


Heathens

by LunaoftheBlueMoon01



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Great Heathen Army, History, Loss of Innocence, Magic, Minor Violence, Mythology - Freeform, Ragnar's sons, Revenge, Romance, Slavery, Snakes, Tales, northumbria, power, the gods - Freeform, unlikely love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaoftheBlueMoon01/pseuds/LunaoftheBlueMoon01
Summary: Blaeja had always wanted to serve God in the nunnery, away from the snake pit of court. But from the seas destiny would call to change her fate forever.





	1. Northumbria

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This story has been on my mind for a while now, I hope you enjoy. I will be mixing the TV Show and the historical sources together in this one.
> 
> Eofiric- York.  
> Din Eidyn- Edinburgh.

The gathering clouds outside turned a harsh shade of grey-a storm was brewing; dense puffs as thick as the froth of ale. Nothing far from the usual, autumn had arrived and storms were normal occurrences. Still Blaeja though they looked different, like a simply rain storm wouldn’t quench them. She jumped as the needle pricked her, a few droplets of blood staining her now useless piece of needlework. _Why is the storm making me so nervous?_ She thought as she brought her wounded finger to her lips, the taste of the iron caused her mouth to water. She pushed away her needlework and curled up in her ledge, the familiar knot clamped down deep inside her chest, her hand gently rubbed below her throat, trying desperately to ease it with no avail. Settling instead to fidget with the crucifix around her neck, below her the sound of horse’s hoofs rumbled as the sentry returned. He went so quickly Blaeja couldn’t distinguish the meaning was it a good thing or ill.

The knot tightened within her chest, in truth it started with that damned Northman. Blaeja had felt a bit queer watching him die, she had seen dead men, their wounds washed and covered and she had seen those whom survived although some disfigured permanently by the civil war. The act of dying she had been shielded from, especially when it included her father’s snake pit. The crafty creatures designed by god to writhe and squeeze until the soul finally left the body. It made Blaeja’s skin crawl to think of it, she could almost feel their wet slimy scales crush around her chest, her neck. May perhaps one of dammed creatures escaped and took its home around her heart.

She shrivelled at the thought, _stop or you’ll give yourself nightmares,_ she told herself. The king of the frozen North hadn’t looked as she would have expected. She had heard tales of a giant beast more bear than man; some of the younger servant girls had even called him the last of the dragons. Blaeja didn’t expect him to breathe tunnels of fire but she certainly didn’t think he’d look so…old. Of course it had been many a year since the raid of Lindisfarne but the stories from the Kingdom of Wessex and Paris would make him seem like age couldn’t touch him. His body had been slumped in his cage, his face covered in blood as he spoke his strange words that Blaeja failed to understand. As he dropped she felt pity for me, such a strange feeling, to feel pity for a demon returning to Hades.

Before she could ponder anymore, she was summoned to her father’s chambers. _It was bad news; why else would father call me?_ Fixing back a few loose hairs she followed the young servant on the familiar path. Inside King Aelle paced like a captive lion in his cage, _it was said King Penda of Mercia had an army of lions._ She recalled, _the lions didn’t save the pagan king with good king Oswiu came for him._ The dim day light cast through the window made his face look grey and sullen. Mother sat very still at the table, her face unreadable but her hands wringing.

“Northmen ships have been spotted off the coast of East Anglia. My sentry believes they’re could be over a hundred ships.” Mother blessed herself while Blaeja froze in her spot. Judith was right.

“Father perhaps we should write to King Ecbert and reinstate the alliance.” The fury in her father’s eyes blazed. Blaeja wanted to hide from those eyes and the body connected. She wanted to run, run into her mother’s embrace like a child. But she couldn’t move, her legs felted like they were chained to the floor.

“How can you speak of such matters you stupid girl.” She hissed as she felt his warm breathe so close to her face, her eyes scrunched shut, her chin grasped between his sweaty fingers. “There is no alliance with Wessex and not of my doing.” He noticed her pain and released her, taking to lead over table. Blaeja gently sat down, trying to blink the tears from her eyes.

“Father forgive me, I didn’t mean to disobey you, I’m frightened, maybe we should send a message to Judith, her husband could-” The words stopped in her throat, Aelle’s meaty hands wrapped painfully around her wrist, under the pressure her fingers started to feel numb.

“If you speak against me again, I will have your tongue. Do you understand?” She could only nod, new hot tears in her eyes. He finally released the now bright red wrist; Blaeja gently cradled it against her body as the blood rushed back to the fingers, little pin picks covering her hand. Quickly moving to a seat beside her mother, every movement caused the pain to flame up. “I do not need the armies of Wessex to fight the pagans. I have prepared my own army that will defeat them. Daughter they have arrived sooner than I thought and so tonight you will marry King Edmund of East Anglia. I have been in negotiations with him for some times and will arrive to our kingdom tonight.”

“But East Anglia is our natural enemy, you said yourself father they cannot be trusted. They are dishonest and-”

“I know what I said daughter. That is why your marriage will remain unconsummated. When we win against this foreign threat you will have a proper Christian wedding to cement our new alliance. If he does not support us you will be free to marry another prince. Go prepare yourself.”

 _I am to be married?_ Blaeja questioned it over and over in her head. She knew it would happen someday. She was told it repeatedly as a child, as children Judith would always play the bride, focusing Ecgberht to play her groom and Blaeja had to walk behind her, carrying her long glittering (imaginary) robes. As she got older, the monastery became so familiar and homely to her. Following Judith’s own wedding to Prince Aethelwulf, Blaeja thought she might be allowed to take her vows. That dream fell around her with each scrub of her body. When they were done the servants had her smelling like roses, Blaeja instead felt heavy. _Is my sister to become my enemy? And I am to marry our enemy._ She surrendered herself to it, allowed her servants to dress her in her best blue dress, Far from the splendour of Judith’s wedding. The memory was so dim in her mind; she was so young then- barely in her fifth year. She remembered everyone being so happy and how her elder sister had looked like an angel in white. She was older now than Judith had been at her wedding, Judith had passed into her fourteenth year when she left for Wessex. Blaeja had at least been saved from that ordeal-till now. Even at sixteen, she still felt unprepared to be wife and queen both.

Blaeja gently jumped as her mother wiped tears off her cheeks. “Hush now. It is only a wedding. The consummation comes later.”

“I hadn’t thought that far. Mother please. I don’t want this.” She begged. She was no so stupid to think she would have married someone she cared for-after all she was a princess not some common fish wife. She had hoped when-if- her time came she would at least know what he would look like.

“We must do what is best. God has chosen you for this task and you must be strong enough to carry it out.” She gently pinched her daughter’s cheeks till the colour returned. “Beside I hear Kind Edmund is very handsome and brave. I think you will like him well.” Blaeja gave a small smile.

“Will I be in the midst of the battle?” If these Northmen had landed off East Anglia, surely father wouldn’t send her there.

“No, we will be going to Eofiric on the morn, we will be safe.” She attached the white veil in place. “Do you remember when you were little in the monastery? You were so scared of the thunder, do you remember the song I use to sing you?” Her mother stoked her arms softy as she sung “When you get scared sing it to yourself. Come on now, it’s time.”

She held her mother’s hand tight as she was lead to the holy alter like a lamb. She could feel her heart beat fast in her ears and she felt unbearable warm in the cold chapel. She sneaked a peek at her husband to be through her veil. He was tall, a good head taller than her. Dark hair combed back and hanging against his strong jaw with an even stronger nose. Handsome indeed, Blaeja thought when their equally dark eyes meet, _maybe this marriage will not be all that bad._ Blaeja delivered her vows with a quiet shaky breath, distracted by the rattle of soldiers outside the church. It would be silly for Blaeja to think her morning gift was hers, some women received money or land, she was gifted her country’s future. She should feel grateful, and she did. But the knot in her chest told her otherwise, told her of a future they all feared.

She swallowed hard as their lips joined in the lightest of brushes. It had not been her first kiss that honour lay with a boy at the monastery; in truth that had been rather wet for her liking. The wedding feast was a small affair, no doubt that the quests that travelled with King Edmund grumbled. With such limited time to prepare the fat pigs were slaughtered, although Blaeja overheard Edmund complaining to his men about the lack of wild boar. She choose to ignore it focusing instead on her parents happy faces, it was the first time she’d seen her father smile in months. It was most welcomed sight even with the threat that loomed above their heads.

“My lord husband, can you tell me of your kingdom of East Anglia. I am keen to know my new home.” He ignored her at first, had I spoke wrong? She wondered, did I not appear dutiful? Finally he turned his face warm and inviting in the candle light. His smile lit up his handsome face and Blaeja let her eyes fall briefly to his lips, _why did we have to wait?_ Her scars told her why, they reminded her of her sinful ways. _Forgive me oh mighty Lord for my wicked thoughts,_ she prayed.

“You will find out soon enough, however I am sure you will find it most pleasing.” His voice was deep and thick with the southern accent.

“I hope to be a good queen by your side. My mother told me your mother has opened her own hospital.”

“And your mother failed to teach you to remain silent.” That was the final nail of the conversation, Blaeja wanted to pull her veil across her face to hide the redness covering it. _I have failed on my first day._ She sat alone praying with the golden band on her finger. The laughter of her husband still rang around her almost as if in a world she was not allowed to enter. She wanted to run, to hide behind the cloister walls again away from everything.

But instead it was it was time for bed, Blaeja tied to keep from looking back as she left the hall. The ramble however followed her to her rooms as she was stripped to her night clothes. She crossed her arms across her chest embarrassed with all the eyes on her. Father, mother and a few men of King Edmund’s sat on stools a little from her bed as Bishop Edmund blessed the bed. The holy smells caught Blaeja in the throat, it hurt as she held back her cough, and failing. She climbed into the bed, the covers left at her feet, a small chill worked up her exposed body. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, her eyes focused on a point at the ceiling. One day she will have to do this all over again, but for real when that day comes.

Stray salty tears fell down her face, into her ears as her husband strolled into the room, stumbling in intoxication. He placed a knee in between her open legs, a little too close to certain areas. She could see in his eyes he was as unhappy about this as she was, but didn’t stay any longer than needed. It was done she was now Princess of Northumbria and Queen of East Anglia.

Thankfully everyone left her alone, her parents didn’t even meet her eyes as they left. Blaeja pulled the blankets tight around her to block out the cold air. Her room seemed emptier now that her belongings were packed away for their journey tomorrow. Blaeja had been a child the last time she had lived in Eofiric, she remembered very little about the city. It wasn’t much different from Bamburgh she was sure, both ancient capitals her ancestors enjoyed. Father however was too afraid to live there, he feared it was still loyal to her half-uncle Osberht. She hadn’t thought of Osberht in a long time, or her sister for that matter. Aethelthryn-begotten from father’s first wife, had died long before Blaeja was even born, married off to of Osberht and sent to the cold fort in Din Eidyn. In the hopes he could not raise an army, for a time that was true. Blaeja had heard the whispers, ever now some like to claim it was Aethlthryn’s fault for the civil war. She shuffled in the bed grateful when sleep finally came for her.

The coldness was the first thing she notice as the branches picking and scratched at her fingers tips. _Pat. Pat. Pat._ Little droplets of rain hit her head, again and again. _Pat. Pat. Pat._ Where was she? A forest it seemed, the thick trunks of the trees like a shield. There were several round her, in this old ancient forest. _Pat. Pat. Pat._ The irritating rain continued against the top of her head, like a bee around a flower patch. It felt like a cage all these trees. Blaeja looked between them, trying to find her way out, each gap was filled with another tress, and another and another. A gleam of shooting light above her caught her attention. _Pat. Pat. Pat._ She looked up, and screamed. Above her a big black bird hung unaided between the tress, wings spread like Christ on the cross. Guts hanging like string from its open belly. _Pat. Pat. Pat._ The blood landed on her face.

She lunched up so hard, she feared she might fall from the bed. The knot in her chest clamped down so hard she couldn’t breathe, her breath came out in short difficult gasps she felt this was her end. It was just a nightmare, no more, just a nightmare, she repeated to herself. But a voice somewhere in the deep pit of her mind didn’t believe her.


	2. Colours

Blaeja was glad of the morning light, and even gladder of the meal to break her fast. The air was thick this morning; a light mist had rolled in and obscured the framing hills, it made Blaeja feel like she stood at the edge of the world. It did not however stop the commotion in its throes, as servants rushed to load the carts. _Edmund’s party has travelled light,_ Bleaja noted as she emerged at the courtyard. His band of lord’s sat atop their steads; the stocky horses scuffed their hooves, as if eager to set out. Or perhaps they knew of a danger hidden in the mist.

It coated her face in a light stray of water, bringing her back to reality after the dream of the night before. She smiled to herself before carefully wiping the liquid from her face as to not draw attention to herself. She was sure Eofiric still had the little garden beside the patch of woods, so she wouldn’t be locked inside as usual at least. Mother was already stored safely inside the royal cart, draped not in the royal colours this time as to not draw attention. Father appeared from his hidden spot under the shade, his dark greying hair coated with water droplets like tiny pieces of glass had found their way into the mane that surrounded his face. Behind him, the servant held the reins of the two large grey hounds; they whined and patted their feet.

“Father?” Blaeja asked confused.

“I thought you’d like to take them with you, they’ll useless here. Maybe the brainless things will learn some courage with you.” Blaeja smiled bright, she wanted to jump at him, hug him, and show how much this meant to her. But she didn’t. Father won’t have wanted that, certainly not with his new allies circling in the courtyard. She instead settled instead to kiss his palms.

“Thank you father, I wish you victory in the war to come. May our lord protect and watch over you.” That got him to smile; his confidence gave her strength to hope. No matter how many faults were laid at her father’s feet, no one could doubt that King Aelle always got what he wanted in the end. With a departing kiss to her head, Blaeja was loaded into the cart as the last bit of cargo; mother was already inside, a thick woollen blanket wrapped around her legs, only her face and hands poked out from her furred coat. It looked like a huge wolf had swollen her whole but stopped at the neck, _a queer thought_ , Bleaja said to herself.

She settled in for the long journey, gently she pulled back the little slits in the drapes that serviced as her only window to the outside world. She tied to remember the details of this place, the slopping roofs. The hanging red bolts of cloth that blew and snapped in the wind, the ever present delicious smell of warm bread that filled the air. She’d only lived here for a little while, the last one of her siblings left under the family’s roof-till now. Even in this short while, she had little memories that meant much to her. In truth she had spent most of her time wishing to return to the monastery.

She however still felt the need to store them in the back of her mind in case of need. The large grey mass of Wulfnod sat on her toes, his shaggy face placed into her lap with large yellow eyes looking up at her. While mother didn’t seem to be displeased with the presence of Wine nuzzling at her hand. Both women seemed thankful of their warmth and distraction for the long journey ahead, the commotion around them picked up as they departed. King Edmund was far in front flanked on all side with guards, Blaeja and her mother pulled up the rear with the baggage carts. Guards surrounded them, their chainmail clanking with each movement. Blaeja wondered how effective it would serve against hungry animals or any the wild men said to live in the woods. The large dog licked her hands; _maybe the sight of them was enough to scare off any would be attackers._

 _Maybe the sight of you is enough to send the Northmen back to where they came,_ Blaeja thought as she held Wulfnod’s head in her hands, _a whole army of hounds to send them running to their ships._ He gave her his funny open smile. _Maybe not,_ she laughed to herself. It felt like a sin to laugh at such a time, she noticed her mother giving her a strange look, _does she think I’m mad? Maybe I am and I just don’t know it yet?_

She intended to remain quiet for the rest of the journey, lest her mother get anymore suspicions. She subconsciously patted Wulfnod’s head as she lead back against the hard wood side, it was strangely comfortable against her tired body. She took too gazing out the little slit in the drapes, they were now a little from Bamburgh, small pockets of villages were starting to disappear behind them as the road took them through the tree line. The trees slowly strolled away from their party, their huge trunks stood like dark columns casting shadows on the forest floor. The carts moved into a thicket, the space between the trees became smaller, till there seemed to be more trees than space for them. Somewhere in the distance a bird squawked, it made her think back to her dream, wondering if the bird was giving its last call.

She turned back, startled slightly as Wulnod moved in his sleep. She pulled her thick cloak tighter around her; she wished she could remove her veil that had struck itself quite unpleasantly to the back of her neck. She couldn’t-she would never be allowed to remove it in public, high born wives didn’t remove their veils in front of the eyes of men. After a few welcomed stops they were finally on the last stretch, by this point mother had took up her needlework while Blaeja nibbled on her crab apple, too bored to think about her own needlework abandoned on the seat beside her.

“Don’t worry, we will arrive safety.” Her mother assured her, looking up from the finished shirt. “I have been thinking; do not tell your father. When this war is finished, I wish to visit Judith and her children.”

“If you allow, I would like to go with you. I miss Judith too; it has been a long time since I’ve seen them. How are the children doing?”

“Athelred is growing quickly.” Blaeja could hear the longing in her voice, she hid it so well yet now it flowed freely. “Judith says he takes very much after his father. In her last letter, she said he was coming along with his sword. Alfred is the more silent of the two, but surpasses his brother in his writing skill.”

“Poor Alfred, he will always be in his brother’s shadow it seems.” Outside the noises of the villages started to pick up, not long now.

“Are not all younger children. You have no excuse; I want full reports on your children when the time comes. The nuns taught you to write after all, I expect you to put it to good use.”

“As you command mother.”

The sun was starting it’s descend when they pulled under the ancient arches of Eofiric. The muddy streets were still awash with people, some paid them no attention. While others gave them annoyed looks as they huddled out of the way. The cart lumbered along the packed earth, the movement had roused the lazy dogs. Wine jumped on his hind legs to get a better lookout, tongue wangling. His loud bark scared the Queen from her half slumber state, Blaeja tried desperately to quiet him as the cart came to a halt. They were nowhere near the villa. Blaeja and her mother shared a confused looked, why had they stopped? The old steel face of Algar poked through the drapes, with him wafted in the smells of the street and sweat.

“Why have we stopped?” Mother asked rather sharply. “Forgive me my Queen, my Lady. An ass cart has broken down in our path, not to worry we will be on our way soon.” He spoke through broken teeth, he departed as quickly as he came, but the smells still remained. Blaeja could see her mother taking shallow breathes as now to take them in, she found herself doing the same. Movement caught her eyes as Wine jumped out of the cart. Without thinking Blaeja jumped down from the cart. The light of the sun blinded her momentarily as her feet began to shrink into the earth. Through squinted eyes she called to the hound, the loud bark from far in front gave her a clue. She was too embarrassed to run as she took off, grasping handfuls of fabric as she shuffled along on her leather shoes not designed for the ground under her.

“Sorry.” She apologized again and again to every person she bump into till it became a prayer on her lips. She was keenly aware someone was following her but still she pressed on. There he was, panting heavily in the doorway of a small house. “Wine, you stupid boy how you could run off like that.” She peppered his rough head with kisses and he returned a long wet lick at her cheek.

“You should be more careful my dear. Lost things don’t fare well in this world.” A croakily old voice spoke from above. Blaeja looked up and upon a wrinkled old crone, straight backed in holding Wine’s leash in her papery hands. _How long had she been then?_ She thought to herself.

“Thank you for finding him, is there anything I can give you in return?” Blaeja whispered, this woman caused her to feel cold despite all the layers she was wearing. She grasped the leash as if it was her last rope to the ground below.

“I will call upon you one day child.” The sounds of swords drawing broke through the air like a crisp wind. Wine snarled and snapped at those behind. Blaeja turned to find King Edmund his handsome face turned into a scowl with blade held aloft, match in stance by six of his own men. Blaeja did not think she was worth such a display.

“Stay your weapons, this old women means you no harm. Edmund you must see that.” She pleaded, trying to meet her husband’s eyes. The world ceased to turn for a moment before Edmund gave the order; Blaeja exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“We’re going back.” He ordered, not even looking at her, Wine still stood defensive at her legs. She pulled at him as she fell in behind Edmund, She had to use her body as a shield between the King and upset dog. “Osmund, take the hound away.” The tall man came from behind, he blocked out the orange sun as he wretched the leash from Blaeja’s pleading hands. Hands that were soon shoved into Edmund’s stronger one. She started to feel better, finally having him touch her. He pulled her against him. “Never speak to me like that again do you understand?”

“Yes.” She barely heard her own voice while she held back her tears. Around them the strangers who had once ignored them looked on intensely. Thankfully it wasn’t too far to the cart; Edmund almost threw her little body towards it as he strolled off in front of only four guards. If Osmund has Wine, where is the other one? Osmund made sure to give her an angry look with his twisted scarred face as he pulled Wulfnod from his slumber to join his brother. Blaeja hung her head as she made her way back to the cart, mother however didn’t look at her as she climbed back to her spot. Hidden behind the safe of the drapes she dried her fallen tears on her sleeve, she must have lost her piece of cloth reserved for the task on her search.

A short time later they stopped for the last time. Guards in Edmund’s colours helped them out; looking around Blaeja noticed they all wore his colours. What happened to the guards that left Bamburgh with us? She noted as she fixed her dress, they had been there at the last rest stop before entering Eofiric. Alger was still here, giving instructions to the villa’s own servants that had come to help with the cargo. Edmund gave her a warm smile as he approached her, Blaeja couldn’t help but smile back.

“Sweet mother, I hope the journey wasn’t too hard for you.” He said so sweetly to her and wordlessly took Blaeja’s hands, her smile feel as she straightened her back, trying to be as regal as she could muster. Up ahead the Ealdorman of Eofiric stood with his family to greet him, Blaeja hadn’t seen Ealdorman Leofric since she a girl of eight. Looking at him now she didn’t know if he had ground fatter, or maybe he was the same size, it was after all a long time ago and he was always so big when she was so little. She hoped he was still as kind as she remembered, she longed to have someone kind around after today.

“King Edmund of East Anglia welcome.” He bowed cautiously on his rickety legs in front of them, with the rest of his party “My most Gracious Queen, it brings light to my eyes to see you again.” He turned at last to Bleaja. “My Lady, my most wondrous congratulations on your marriage, May god grant you happiness in your new life.”

“Thank you Ealdorman. I wait impatiently for the day I can pledge myself in front of god.”

“As do I My Lady, do you remember my daughter, Mildred? You two were quite inseparable as children I remember.” He pointed to the pretty red haired woman to his left, who herself looked ready to burst. Blaeja nodded to be nice; she vaguely remembered the red haired child who was always loud and dragging her into situations Bleaja didn’t want to be in.

“The feast is almost ready and there will be time to wash up before, if you will follow me.” The warmth descended on them as they entered the villa. The soft crackling of the fire provided a comforting sound and warmed their bones; the food was even more welcome after the long journey. The hall was awash with noise, plates scratching and wine squashed as barrel after barrel was rolled out. Ealdorman Leofric knew how to throw a party, the gracious host sat beside mother at the head of the table, she politely listened as he prattled on.

Mildred had been seated beside Bleaja, fawning over the young children at her side. Godric was the shy red haired boy of seven, legs swinging in an effort of something. His four year old sister Elfrida babbled with her doll in her own childlike language, completely unaware of the drunkenness around her. Blaeja was aware she was staring at them; onlookers probably would think she was a young woman who wanted children of her own to dote on. Maybe deep down it was there, but mostly she missed the pressures of childhood. She would give anything to have Judith and Ecgherbt back together, she would happily hear her brother complain when she beat him-fairly at racing. To once again hear Judith brokenly read from the book she had helped 'borrow' from the monks.

“If it wasn’t for your father’s inane command I’d put one of those in you.” King Edmund slurred, a bit too loud that maybe even he intended. Blaeja could feel the heat rush up to her face. Mildred gave her hand a gentle pat.

“It will not be too long now; don’t worry, hopefully before too long our children can play together.” She cried happily. It was not hard to see why Mildred was placed beside her, to try and get a position at the East Anglia, maybe ever some land in both kingdoms. Blaeja didn’t dismiss the idea; it could be nice to have a friend in her new court even if such as friend was there for other reasons as well. But just as she was starting to warm to Mildred’s company, she left with her children. Around her the hall became a ruckus, loud laughter that she felt she was not entitled too filled her ears, as everyone paired off into conversations. Much like at her wedding feast the night before she felt like an outsider looking in, like an ever-present glass wall separated her from everything around her. Much like Godric, she was bored-and tired, she rose from her chair, though no one in the hall noticed.

“Wife.” Edmund called out when she had barely walked a few steps. “Sit down; you cannot think leave your husband alone.”

“I’m tired husband-please.” He have jumped out of his chair, the smirk on his face like a cat that had a mouse cornered.

“What about a little game to wake you up.” He made a gesture to the door. “Come old women, tell us god’s plan.” In she came, the old crone from the street. In this light her face had more lines that the pews of the church, that was where the guard had gone: entertainment. The old women barely looked at her as she took Edmund’s waiting hand.

“I see a great victory in your futures. The spoils of war will be yours and your reign will be long and prosperous, my king.” She croaked out, Edmund seemed smug with her prediction. The whole thing made her uncomfortable; she struggled to pull her hand away. Edmund had it in a vice grip that reminded her too much of the way her father use to grab onto it. The too familiar knot appeared in her chest and her eyes burned with tears.

“Come now wife, don’t be such a bore.” He laughed in her ear. She shook her head and continued to pull but it was no use, the old women gently took Blaeja’s hand into her own smooth one. Blaeja hadn’t expected how soft it was going to be. The old women’s dark eyes roll back in her head, it scared Blaeja-was she dying?

“I see a shadow within you. A darkness that will cause you great suffering.”

“Do not be dire old women, will she give me sons?”

“Both your sons will be kings of creatures of land and sea. Your descendants will grow and fall like the stars in the heavens.” She broke from her trance.

“What does that mean?” Blaeja asked but the women would not answer.

“You may all bow before my son when he is King of all England.” King Edmund pronounced confidently, Blaeja took this time to slip away. The villa was empty on her way to her room, most were at the feast or in their beds. Blaeja took the opportunity to hunt out the hidden book in her trunk, it was too rushed to bring her teacher Father Aelfstan with her. So by the dim candle light she brokenly read to herself much like Judith had done all those years ago.


	3. Thunder

The stars still shinned dimly against the morning sky when Blaeja awoke- at least she thought she was awake. The peacefully picture melted away with the blood that tickled down the walls, bright in the gathering sunlight. The small flow became heavier, staining the brick beneath in its bright sickening liquid. Droplets landed on her hands, warm and sticky as if it leaked from beyond the ceiling above. Maybe the stars themselves bled and fall upon her, would that have explained the burning smells that clung to the air?

_Knock._ Blaeja broke from her trance, surprised to find herself seated upright in bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as if she was still a child terrified of the thunder. She turned both hands towards her, relived to see they were still clean and the brick walls were still dull and chalky. _Knock._ She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and ordered the servant to enter, her flushed face poked around the door. “Forgive me my lady, the cook had an accident and breakfast will be a little longer than usual.”

“Do not trouble yourself, I will pray before I break my fast.” The servant scurried away as fast as she had arrived. Blaeja’s limps groaned as she stretched, how long had she been sitting like that? Her forehead throbbed with what seemed like every heartbeat, she rubbed at it in between dressing to no avail. She gently tucked her veil into her dress as she left the dark orangey light of the villa to the open cloudy courtyard. She had heard stories-the very few times she had been present at court, of lands were the ground was the same colour as the sun above. _Had Ecgberht seen such lands on his pilgrimage?_ She wondered as she prayed in the deserted little chapel. She always prayed for him, the brother who left too early. Blaeja knew Judith had always been jealous of their brother’s fate; she was married off to Wessex while our brother was shipped to Frankia to be educated. Blaeja likewise was jealous of the adventures he had been blessed to experience. Not long ago he had spoken of the glory of the Roman Empire. She was sure was this little chapel in Eofiric could not hold a candle to the Hagia Sophia Cathedral. Maybe after the war she would be blessed to accompany Edmund on pilgrimage or perhaps when her children were grown and all earthly desire had left her. _I should not think of such things,_ she told herself,  _it is not god’s plans that women should do such things._

Once outside the chapel, Blaeja noticed just how empty the courtyard was. Where were all the servants she had seen when she arrived? At this time the courtyard should be awash with them hurrying around doing jobs for their masters. It had been a few days since the feast so none could claim to still be ale sick. The only sounds she could hear came from the town beyond the walls, not even the ring of the villa’s own smithy’s hammer - strange weapons were a needed commodity in this time. None of it sat right within her. _Maybe I could find answers in the town,_ she pondered.

She had barely walked two steps when mother cried after her. Mother stood, her red faced servant in tow wrapped in her usual furs. She looked paler than Blaeja had ever seen her, mother like father had never like this place, but Blaeja wasn’t sure if it was enough. “Where are you going?”

“I thought I would have a stroll in the market.”

“Is there anything you have need of?”

“No, but-“

“Return to your room, come on. It’s time to break your fast.” Blaeja had forgot how hungry she was until her mother had said, her stomach rumbled in response. Everyone was laughing at Leofric’s story; Blaeja didn’t catch when they entered the hall. She noticed her husband was not amount them, where was he? After her meal Blaeja headed back towards her room, there was little else to do especially while mother’s little servant seemed to always be watching her. She stopped short outside her door, with a cautious look around she started heading towards Edmund’s rooms. His comment from the other night had got her thinking; maybe Edmund would be kinder to her if he had bedded her, perhaps it would soothe him when he cannot be at war.

She opened up the large door in front of her and froze; long red curls hid her husband from her. At first they did not seem to take notice continuing in their actions, Blaeja fully wasn’t sure she knew what was going on. She knew ‘what’ was happening, but why was it happening? Why was she watching it happen? She stood in her trance till Edmund looked her through his lashes, mouth still attached to the other’s body.

“Blaeja.” He had been the first time he had called her by her name. She bolted as fast as she could not sure if she closed the door behind her or not. Some part of her wanted to him call after her, for him to chase after her dishevelled and half dressed, to apologize. But he didn’t. It was foolish of Blaeja to think he would, he was a king after all. Everything a king has comes from God that included his wife and his women.

Blaeja found she could not sit still in her room, eyes flashing every so often at the door. What was she hoping for? She rubbed her face around her it felt like the walls were closing in-maybe they were, maybe the blood she had seen on the walls was her own. She scowled at herself, while the Northmen sat at our shores she was stupid to think any danger could come from inside. She would take precautions just in case. She paced around the room; she felt if she checked the walls she could prove to herself they weren’t closing in around her. Her hand was covered in the white crumbly substance as she dragged it along the wall; it made her look like she was preparing for a ritual. She reached a little hollow place. Blaeja grabbed the candle from beside her bed and felt for it again, the flame flicked and a small breeze caressed her face. She reached out with her other hand, when she heard clatter from outside her room.

She turned towards the door with only the candlestick in defence. Her door banged against the hinges and ice ran through her veins, is this what the blood on the walls meant. Her mind flashed to the red haired woman that had sat astride her husband like a man might sit a horse. Muffled voices were heard on the other side and shouts. Blaeja’s heart was pondering hard against her ribs and she could see the candlestick shake in her hands. Silence, just as quick as the noise had started it had stopped. She stayed in her spot for a few moments; it seemed to be what she did when she was afraid, like a rabbit cornered by hunters.

Finally she regained herself; her hand was shaking as she set down her weapon. She carefully opened the door and peeked at the hallway, all clear. She pulled her veil tight around her face, maybe so one will mistake her for a servant and leave her be and set out towards the stables. The hallways were quiet as Blaeja had almost come to expect from the day. Down in the stables Wine and Wulfnod almost jumped on her when they caught sight of her; the two grey masses licked and wagged their tails in happiness, like they could sense the new warm room awaiting them. Blaeja hope they would reward her by taking down anyone that intended to hurt her.

A cry peaked Blaeja’s attention. It was little Elfrida who used her mother’s skirts as protection from the giant beasts. Mildred was bowed low in front of her, but Blaeja could still see the bright smile that graced her fair features. “There’s nothing to fear Elfie.” Mildred laughed pulling the child from behind her. _Certainly not much has changed,_ Bleaja thought, Mildred was still pushing people into situation they were afraid of. Mildred looked to Blaeja asking her permission, she confidently held out a hand, as if an Ealdorman may place a kiss upon it. Blaeja held back Wine and let Wulfnod press his nose into Mildred’s waiting hand, he was the gentler of the two. Mildred tried to push one of her daughter’s hands onto the hound’s shaggy fur; the little one instead was balling her eyes out terrified at the creature in front of her. It was a feeling Blaeja knew well. “Ssh, come now, you will have many of them when you are a Lady or maybe a Prince’s wife.” Mildred did not have subtly in her nature.

“Maybe we should try another day with her?” Blaeja whistled the hound back to her side.

“I think you’re right my lady.” Mildred admitted in her joyful tone of speaking. Blaeja awkwardly turned; she never knew what to say. “I am going to the market in town; I would be most honoured if you wished to join me?” The older girl added. 

“I would like that.”

“Shall I meet you in the garden, in 30 minutes?” When Mildred smiled it was hard not to join in.

“I shall see you there.” A rare smile found itself on her face, maybe things were starting to turn in her favour. In her room a familiar figure sat in unused chair “Why are you here?” The grumpy now pink faced servant looked up from her needlework.

“My Lady, your mother sent me, she believes you could do well with some company.” Wine was getting restless at her feet. I am to watched, she took up her needlework and took her usual place in the window ledge. It was not having a servant that bothered her, nor did she have anything to hide. For all her life her parent had left her be, of course it was proper for her to be housed in the nunnery, after all the nunnery had saved her and her siblings lives. But for now why didn’t her mother spend time with her if the intent was to really provide company. Wulfnod took his usual place by her feet; Blaeja noticed the servant wasn’t as pleased with his presence as mother had been. Wine on the other hand was sniffing along the walls, she watched his curious behaviour.

“May you fetch me some water please?” The servant wordlessly did as she commanded. She seized back her candle stick she knelt down beside the hound who had found the hollow spot. The shallow wind danced along her face as she gently pushed Wine out of the way, Wulfnod characteristically didn’t seem bothered with his litter mate’s antics. She ran a finger along until she found a small groove, it was painful to squeeze two of her fingers into the groove and with a snap the little door opened. It was dark inside but the air current was beckoning, Wine poked his nose in, clearly smelling something she couldn’t. “ Stay.” She commanded him. She shouldn’t go down she knew, she told herself repeatedly but she climbed through the tiny entrance, barely big enough to fit her tiny frame. Blaeja’s halted for a few moments to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark, she could barely see very far in front of her. A little far in steps appeared, she barely had much room to move as she untangled her legs, her head hit off the ceiling causing dust and other things she didn’t want to think off to fall into her hair. Finally a foot touched a step and another. From further down the smell of the kitchens reached her- was that where the burning smell came from? Behind her the hounds barked, she must be on her way back. Hunching down as far as she could, Blaeja crawled back trying hard not to breathe in the dust.

She gave thanks for the clean air as she dusted herself off; wiping her hair as she was sure there was something in it- she hoped it was just her mind. Mildred! She remembered. Straighten the veil around her head she carefully closed the door behind her as to not let the dogs out. Luckily she didn’t spot her mother’s spy the whole journey, but in truth she was distracted by her discovery. Why did it lead to the kitchens? Was it a servant hatch? it doesn't seem likely anyone would want their food covered in dust and chalk? Moreover why is it still here?

It was a puzzlement that kept her company on her journey to the garden. The little garden of her childhood had been replaced by paths to connect the buildings with small bundles of greenery and blue Iris flowers adding some colour to the dull path. Blaeja bend to pick some, she would give them to Elfrida to cheer her up. In front of her a shadow blocked the sun. Edmund stood above her, looking very presentable. She dipped her head and waited for his permission to rise, she held the blue flowers close to her chest as he stood emotionless in front of her.

“I want her gone.” She blurted out, where did she get the courage to say that? She bit hard on her tongue.

“She has already left. You will not enter without permission again.” _You should have guards posted at your doors,_ she wanted to say but instead she nodded. “You will also never speak of any of my women do you hear me? You will turn your cheek as Christ commands.” She raised the flowers towards her face so the perfume would fill her senses. Her husband berated her like Mother Superior Ainsley had when she was a child of eight. Catching sight of her Edmund ripped the flowers from her hands. “Once more you will listen to me when I talk to you. Is that understood?”

“As you command.” He stroded off, Blaeja bend to pick up the bright flowers, the wind had finally made an appearance and blew a few under the large lone tree. A fat droplet of water rolled off a dry leaf above her, landing on her cheek and looked like a tear, joined by another and another until the pathway began to turn a darken hue. A roll of thunder rung somewhere in the distance, signalling a great storm. Or was it the Great Heathen Army banging their round shields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it will not be all depressing. Please tell me what you think, are the characters going along good?


	4. The cold sets in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is mention and depiction of suicide in this chapter, not too much in detail. 
> 
> Seax- A type of blade, it was used for hunting as well in the kitchen and even in battle.

“It’ll be hard in the beginning, but after a while it’ll be easier.” Mildred had spoken that day under the large lone tree. She spoke from her own experience but Blaeja failed to connect with her words; of course she had expected such a thing when she would be big with child, but she had hoped not be overshadowed so early and barely a bride. Mildred’s words gave her hope for the future, especially in her current moment. The Queen and her shadow of a servant had joined her in her chambers, together crafting their embodied shirts-by the time they return to Bamburgh father would have enough to last him the year out. Blaeja wondered if Judith sewed her shirts for Aethelwulf, or did her needle belong to another?

Edmund had his place at the small table, a flagon and one goblet of wine reserved only for him upon it. A little serving boy scurried back and forth to refill his master’s refreshment, his little body was flushed under the heavy weight of the flagon and the steps from the kitchen to room. He would be quicker using the little hatch, Blaeja thought more than once in the silence. She tied to concentrate on her own shirt; mother had insisted she started to make one for her husband. They would be put to better use if the shirts were going to the soldiers.

 _Had the battle taken place?_ Blaeja wondered. Father had called his northern lords the night of her marriage, it wouldn’t have taken long for the men to arrive and the preparation had begun long before the Pagans had even arrived. Had father now broken through their ranks, rained down god’s justice on the pagans? Maybe tonight he would ride into Eofiric on his white warhorse, his shiny gold helmet like a halo around his holy head. The consecrated finger bones of their ancestor St Oswald would protect and guide his head just as he had done in the past.

Her own hand shook slightly from the cold that crept through the window, her hounds banished from her feet-they had barely spent the night by the fire till mother had turned them out. The cold spread through her back over the marks that criss-crossed, mother wanted to make sure that Blaeja knew her duty. She tied hard not to make a noise as the fabric of her dress rubbed against them; the tight coverings provided only mental reassurance. She made small movements, the cool air-despite the onset pain, gave her skin some comfort. Luckily it did not seem to draw any attention, her mother did not take her eyes from her beautiful embroidery, and the servant was on a mission to get some more cloth and thread. Edmund would not meet her eyes even in the company of her own mother, Blaeja wondered how she could be surrounded by people yet feel so alone. It was like she was watching someone’s life than living it herself.

“Ouch!” She cried aloud, blood wept from the site her needle had broken the skin. Blaeja had always been good at needlework, she prided herself on her ability to stitch fabric and flesh. But was that a skill to leave her now as well. Three times she had picked herself: the day the pagan died, the day of her marriage and today, it was a precedent she did not want to set. To her surprise Edmund handed her a square of cloth, she accepted it hoping her own smile would bring one to his; it did not. There was calmness about him, like a spring wind that brushed the heather high upon the hill.

Church bells rang throughout the town at an alarming rate, it brought with it doom and panic. A panting guard threw open the large oak door, breaking through the silent atmosphere. “My Lord.” It was Algar, he bowed to each in turn. “Forgive me for entering unannounced. The Great Heathen Army approaches.” Blaeja could feel the blood in her veins turn to ice, like she had been dropped head first into an icy river. Algar stood awkwardly at the doorway awaiting his orders, Blaeja vaguely noticed him giving her a concern, it was only then that she realized she was shaking slightly and not just from the cold. Her husband took his time in downing the contents of his goblet; he finally smiled very charmingly at the two royal women. The sight warmed Blaeja a small amount and made her heart skip a beat.

“I shall take to the battlements. We’ve been preparing for this, fear not my mother.” He place a comforting kiss on to the queen’s forehead, Blaeja had to admit she was a little jealous to be the only one not to receive his attention. “Wife I bend my knee and ask for your blessing.” Just as tradition demanded Blaeja laid her hands on his soft brown head.

“May our lord Jesus and all his saints protect you from harm.” “Fear not wife, I intend not to die this day.” This was a gleefully glint in his eye, Blaeja couldn’t place it but it made the soft hair on her arms stand on edge. Edmund and Algar quickly departed, off to put their armour on. In their absent it was as if they had took the heat with them, Blaeja moved towards the brazier begging for any heat it was willing to give her. It licked at her face as Wine would do often and dried the small tears on her cheeks, more ran down her warm cheeks to replace them. Outside the noise of the defence sounded in earnest, clanks of armoured men taking their position outside the room. _I am now a prisoner for my own protection._ Blaeja looked out the window, her view was obstructed by a high wall but she could still see a slice of the pale blue sky. The low afternoon sun was hidden by white fluffy clouds, like a herd of sheep had escape they shepherd and danced in the sky above. A large black raven landed on the wall, something long and stringy hanging from his mouth. His large blue eye stared at her, like his could see inside her soul.

She was so fixed on the sight she didn’t realize her mother’s servant had returned to the room mission completed. She heard a voice in the distance but she couldn’t make it out, the large bird in front of her took to spreading out its large onyx wings just like in her dream. “Blaeja.” Her mother’s voice roused her, her face was lined with confusion.

“I’m sorry, I was looking at-" But it had flown off, probably to patiently wait for its feast.

“Come here child.” Her mother led her from the warmth of the fire and dismissed the old servant. Blaeja could feel mother’s hands tremble around her, she only noticed now without the horrible wolf skin cloak how thin mother had become. Mother’s narrow hands left her arms to push a small blade into her hand, Blaeja looked at her in shock as she tied to push the seax back into her mother’s hand. “If it comes to it, we must. I’m sure you have heard too of what they do to captured foes, and especially the women.” Bleaja could feel her heart beat in her ears , it was pounding so fast Blaeja was worried it would burst out her chest.

“We can’t” She whispered.

“What do you think they’d do to us, the women of the man that slain their king and father. God will forgive our desperation.” Her mother pulled her into an embrace, but Blaeja remained frozen like stone. The blade between them pressed hard up against her heart, refusing to be forgotten.

“What will they do?” Her voice was so quiet, she wasn’t sure why she asked, but she had now.

“Avery says they sacrifice people to their blood thirsty gods for a good harvest, that they plough their fields with human blood. Their priests are said to bathe in blood themselves as they perform the rituals. She seen them burn women alive at the end of ‘certain acts’.” Her mother’s face twisted in disgust and horror, Blaeja was sure her own face matched, her hands sweated as she gripped tightly onto the seax.

The sounds of the siege were underway around them, in the distance shouts were heard in what language not one of the women could distinguish. They didn’t know if the battle had broken into the town yet, the packed earth would make an easy battle field. Surely it hadn’t got that far or maybe they were too high up or too far away for the echoes of spear and sword to reach her. Blaeja looked to the large door, it was very heavy it did take a strong guard after all to pry it open every time she wanted to enter or exit. She remembered back to the other day, how it rocked under the weight of ‘something’. Would it be so weak under the weight of weapons of their foes? Her mother was praying desperately in front of golden crucifix, it scared Blaeja. Surely god wouldn’t abandon them, she said to herself again and again but joined her mother all the same.

Was it minutes or hours that passed? They couldn’t be sure in their small makeshift chapel, their voices were hoarse as they pressed on, and Edmund had finished off all the wine before he left and not one servant stood on call. The flames in the brazier had long died and there was no more wood to revive it, they would die of thirst and chill before any pagan blade would harm them. Blaeja tried to put the thought out of her mind as her prayers left her in puffs of smoke, the twin blades sat on the alter in front of them bathe in the small glory of the candles like they were an ungodly idol. _Had mother prepared blades for us the last time we were at war?_ She thought. She was so young at the time of the civil war, but now she was curious if a seax with their names had loomed over them in the safety of the nunnery. If Osberht had won would her mother rather have spilled their life blood then surrender to the usurper?

As if to interrupt and answer her questioning, the sound of footsteps thundered outside. One pair, two pairs, three pairs. Blaeja lost count of how many there were, they seemed to duplicate like a demon able to rip itself into multiple copies. Even from here Blaeja could hear the wooden boards groan under their weight. Again and Again the footsteps sounded also controlled and calm, like how she heard lions move before the pounced. Maybe it was their own men; maybe victorious Edmund was return back to free them? Both women seemed to have the same thought as they rose to their feet ready to greet him, blades left behind like a nightmare. Almost as soon as the feeling reached them it was dashed with the scraping of blades. Grunts and groans were the sound of their strong helpless protectors; all was lost.

It was here, it had come to ‘it’. There was no more time to think of the maybes, of what could be, the forces of East Anglia were not enough to stop the tide. Father was dead, Blaeja realized, for the Northmen would not be here if father had defeated them in the field. She let the tears fall now, heavy like rain down her pale cheeks. Even mother did not try to take them from her, above she could hear the raven squawking ready for its new meal. Blaeja joined her mother in unison, she struggled to keep the blade still against her breast. She stared at the gold crucifix, metal seemed to dance and bleed against the light of the candles. She could hear her breathe echo in her skull, her brain felt like it would melt from the blood that pulsed and throbbed behind her eyes. She didn’t want to look to her mother, didn’t want to see those eyes so similar to hers close for evermore. From the corner of her eyes she seen her mother fall, it was over quickly, and the sharp blade brought her to god. Blaeja tied to concentrate, she gripped the blade tighter, the leather bidding hurt against her palm and the guard poked uncomfortably into her hand. It will all be over just as it is for mother, she told herself. She tied to push the blade against her skin and she winced when it drew a few drops of blood. She could do no more than that. She fell to her knees beside her mother’s body, her life’s blood was still warm and it coated Blaeja’s hands to remind her how much of a failure she was. She wanted to stay there, weep and tell her how sorry she was until she joined her, but outside the final bodies of the guards fell.

Blaeja remembered the little hatch. They were at the door now, it shook on its hinges just as it had that day before. Through blurry vision she pried up the small stubborn door. Something smashed through the door, leaving shards of wood in its wake, she felt one hid her wet hands. She crawled in backwards into the tiny tomb like space, carefully not to get blood on the white walls, she wiped as much as she could on her dress, trying not to think of its owner. Quietly she closed the door behind her as the large door finally gave way. She remained inside her tomb haven, eyes focused on the little crack around the door that gave her a view to the room. She was too scared to move in case she would alert them to her presence. Screams, both of men and women followed them from the space where her door had been. What started as shadows formed into hulking meat of men, they wore blood as brazenly as a maiden would wear her jewels. In front they were seemly lead by a shorter younger man, not long out of boyhood. His hair may have been blond, Blaeja fully couldn’t tell from the light and blood that darkened it. They made quick work of her room, turning furniture and rummaging through her chests to find every last precious jewel. Her breathe stopped when the younger one looked her direction, this was her reward for her cowardice. She tied to move back in the tunnel to hide herself further from his gaze.

But they left, richer than they had entered but without her all the same. She slowly backed further into the hole until her feet came in contact with the steps, her foot almost slipped but luckily she found her place and then the second step and she finally had the room to move. She hadn’t realized before it opened up to be so huge, the ceiling was lost in the darkness above her somewhere. The light from the cracks in the hatch gave off enough light to find a wall to her side, it was rough against her hand, but she was grateful of it all the same. She did not have time to let her eyes adjust to the darkness, she slowly placed a foot one after another on the steps in front of her, using only the wall as her guide. At the bottom was the kitchens, it would not be long till dark and maybe she could escape out the well. She continued in her slowly and delicate pace, in the darkness an oil holder appeared and ripped her veil from her head, taking diadem and a few hairs from her scrap. It caused her eyes to water, she was passed the first curve of the steps now one could see her if they opened the hatch and she didn’t know how far the steps continued, this would be a good place to wait. She slowly sunk down the wall, using the step as an uncomfortable seat. Her hand was bloody and enflamed from the rough wall and her salty tears burned her cheeks. She bite hard against the heel of her hand to silence any sobs that escaped, she wept until there was no tears left in her to weep.

She could hear the scurry of rats in the tunnels above her, they would usually frighten her but now she was too drained to feel anything else but sadness. It wrapped around and squeezed her heart as if it would make this place her eternal home. She had no way of knowing how long she had been sitting here, was it now as dark outside as it was in here. _I need to get out, the next village shouldn’t be too far I can buy a horse and go to Wessex. I can see Judith again and warn them._ She finally smiled in the darkness. Her body ached as she straightened, she had to push forward. Her feet were wobbly and she had to remain silent through her trips, but soon she found her pace. She descended further and further, maybe she had slipped away without realizing, maybe now she was descended further into Hades. The stale air Blaeja had got use to now gave way to the open air of the kitchen mingled with blood and decay. The entrance to the tunnel was covered by a larger version of the same wooden door that lead her to this point, through the cracks she could see the lack of light. She pushed against it to no avail, the sweat rolled down the back of her neck in the exertion. She groped at the door in a hot panic in darkness. Was she to be trapped forever on the over side of the door? New tears clouded up her vision as she pushed and pulled at the door, finally it slide away.

The kitchen was a mess when she was freed, the Northmen had already ransacked it. She tiptoed around the broken pieces of pottery, trying to find the well. A movement outside drew her eye, she hid behind the table her hand brushed over a broken piece of plate or bowl, she gripped it carefully between her fingers. Her eyes watched the shadow walk together her, as he got nearer Blaeja recognized him. “Edmund.” She whispered in the dark spring forth from her hiding place. “I’m so glad you’re safe, come on we have to get out of here.” She grabbed at his hand but it dropped to his side limply.

“My condoles on your mother.” He spoke so plainly and with his usual emotionless voice. Over his shoulder Blaeja notice the horses, there were more, a great deal more than they had arrived with and all in his colours. _Could he have called more men?_ She wondered, _no the East Anglia forces were here already. Then who?_ The answer made her feel sick to her stomach.

“Edmund, please tell me you didn’t betray us.” He said nothing. “Edmund.”

“In the choice between your people and mine, I will always save mine.” His usual guards appeared behind him, Oswald in his most prominent place, his uncleaned one handed sword in hand. He almost looked like a Northmen himself from the blood that crusted on his bald head.

“How could you trust these pagans?” _How could we have trusted you_.

“We have an understanding. Come now we will leave for East Anglia tonight .” She stood where she was, for the first time not in fear. One of the guards came towards her, she smashed the pottery shard against his face. He screamed such a high scream as a piece found his eye, Blaeja hopped she could get away she tried to back away but Oswald was like a wall. She was on the ground before she knew from his blow, she could feel the bruise already budding under the skin. A swift kick to the gut stopped her world for several moments. Her brain screamed as she gasped for air. Was this how she was to die? She couldn’t feel anything save the burn of her lungs as she fought for air. Finally the world started to move again, by that time the well was a sight growing smaller and smaller. She was bound like cattle as Oswald pushed her along on reluctant feet, mud and stone made a home into her shoes.

The courtyard was a different sight, it was about to almost burst with warriors. A wave of noise, of beer and laughter accompanied them as the warriors paid her a little of their attention. She could see the shine of the metals and jewels being shared amount them. The bodies Blaeja had expected to be everywhere were piled high and on fire, the smell made her gag but there was nothing in her stomach to bring up. On the walls of the chapel father Almund and his fellow priest hung upside down, their throats sliced from ear to ear. _Were they sacrifices to their gods? Would I join them on their walls?_ Blaeja didn’t want to look anymore, didn’t want to see what awaited her. She bowed her head and a small time later they came to a stop.

“Friends, I give you a gift. Aelle’s own daughter.” One of their own translated Edmund’s words. Blaeja was pushed to the ground, she hoped death would come quick. A large rough hand grabbed her chin and forced her bruised face up, maybe Blaeja was imaging or maybe she was numb from pain but he seemed gentle around her swelling cheek. She at last came face to face with the pagan, Ecgberht had once told her how funny they looked, they did not look funny now. His rough hand matched his sharp angular face and his hair was longer than hers wrapped in cord from root to tip, he at least had the decency to wash the blood from his face unlike Oswald. His clear blue eyes studied her face, pulling it one way and another and opening her mouth as if she were a horse for sale.

He spoke something to the men around him, each one in turn added their own opinion. At times it sounded like an argument. Blaeja felt her neck begin to cramp, her head still in the older one’s grasp. She noticed the youth who had stormed her room was among them, he certainly looked better without the blood, no doubt his hair was certainly blond. They still argued for the next few minutes until the one holding her barked at them, _was he their new king?_ She wondered.

“We accept her.” The translator told Edmund. One war made her a princess, the other made her a thrall.

“My payment?” Edmund asked. One of the darker haired men was binding Blaeja to the long pole once used to tie up the horses. The elder one gave her amethyst earrings a pointed look, with a small tug she was free of them and he threw them to her husband. He was not as gentle when he snatched the crucifix from her neck. They all left her then, Edmund and his forces hurried to their horses and rode off into the night. Everything hit her like the cold air that rolled in, for her cowardice she was now sold off to do god only knew what in the camp of the Northmen. She wanted to scream, to cry, to go back and have followed mother in death. She heard crunching heading towards her, she closed her eyes as tight as she could. Was this the beginning of it? She was surprised when the heavy feeling of a cloak appeared around her shoulders, blocking out the cold slightly. When she opened her eyes the blond youth was in front of her, spoon in hand. She turned her head as it came closer to her, he tied again and when she refused he look to his lanky companion.

“It is not poisonous. I give you my word.” She could smell it under her nose, it made her mouth water and her stomach begged for it. Against her better judgement she accepted the food , and the strange boy giving it to her. She tied not to look at him, but his eyes scared her and intrigued her. His left eye looked like one of father’s snake had escaped and found a home there. Fed and watered she was warmed from the inside and when she was done she was sleepy. As quietly as he came to her the boy left her along with the lanky man, he unbound her from the post but not from her ropes.

“You have nothing to fear from me, you will not sleeping out here, come.” She pulled the cloak tighter around her, it was much heavier than any she had owned and the fur tickled her face. The friendly man led her back to one of the rooms. Only the bed was left and this room didn’t seem to have a hatch, anything that she could use to hurt herself was removed. Two women in armour appeared at the door, Alvis as her lanky helper introduced himself explained they were her guards, and she hoped they would fare better than her last ones. She was tied to bed and left in the dark room, why would god abandon her this way? She tried to reach for her crucifix but like the rest of her world it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who had read, comment and giving kudos, its means so much to me.


	5. Ravens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry its taking so long, here's the new chapter and not long the wait till the next one.

Everything hurt. Her legs cramped uncomfortably in her curled position, while her chest ached from a swift kick, every cough edged the pain deeper into her chest. Blaeja found herself in that tantalise place between asleep and awake. From her half closed eye lids she could see the crumbling white paint on the walls, the small shafts of light from the sun that laminated the swirling dust. Perhaps, she thought, she had been dreaming a terrible dream. When she would wake, the kitchens would be in one piece, the priests would be preparing for morning mass, their incense so thick it dried the throat. Mother would be sitting in her usual spot at the table; a warm smile that Blaeja hadn’t seen in so long would grace her lips. May per chance father had arrived during the night and was there to bring her home safe.

The smell of burning-the horrid smell of burning flesh that hung thick in the air reminded her it was not a dream. That the events of the day before had happened, Eofiric had fallen in a blaze of blades and blood and betrayal. Blaeja wasn’t sure how she’d slept but somehow she had, in a kinder world she wouldn’t have woken up. The stiffness in her arms made themselves known as she eyed the ropes holding her wrists secured to the bed post. She pulled at them, over and over but it only tightened them tighter around her. She shouldn’t have accepted the food from that boy, no matter how huger she was she shouldn’t have gave in. She would not succumb anymore, she couldn’t. She should have gone through it with her mother; instead she was left alone in the world. A world now owned by Northmen.

The heavy door pulled open and Alvis entered, Blaeja couldn’t fathom how such a creature could have so kind of a face, it reminded her of Father Aldred. That similar sincere face that in Father Aldred’s case, he always wore a hearty smile to complement his rosy cheeks. She would never believe the indecent gossip about him and the Mother Abbess. But now Alvis had that same warm smile and those same rosy cheeks, It made her feel safe, although that was a foolish feeling giving she was currently tried to a bed. In behind him followed a dark haired woman who looked to be her age-maybe a little older and she was beaming down at her with that smile so similar to the man beside her. Maybe she was trying to be friendly, but it scared Blaeja even more. She wanted to wrap her arms around her legs, but the restraints at her wrists prevented her that comforting habit.

“You are awake, this is my daughter Sigyn. She is a healer; she will check your wounds and insure you are good for work.” She did not like the sound of that, what was her work to be? But was she to expect much difference, she was no King’s daughter anymore, she had no worth. Sigyn was gentle around her swollen cheek, but her light presses on her chest caused Blaeja to suck in a sharp breath. Sigyn gave her a sad smile and went to whisper with her father, their language sounded gruff and hard to her ears. This was the language of her new masters, this language of death and sin. _Not for very long_ , she told herself.

“My daughter tells me you injuries are not serious.” He strolled towards her, making quick work of the small room and skillfully unwound her restraints from the bed post. Her freedom was still in his hands, was her work to begin? “It is time to bathe, and then we will begin.” There was her answer and the thought of it brought tears to her eyes. They spilled down her sore cheek, mixing with the dirt and sweat from the day before. But no bath was brought forth, and Alvis didn’t let her wait around to see if one appeared. Where was he taking me? She wondered as he pulled his leashed princess into the cloudy day, she snuck a look to the courtyard below.

It was covered in ashes, both human and the precious holy texts; a few pages had escaped the flames and lay thick with mud underfoot. The large black ravens had gathered, perched along the walls like a king overseeing his castle. Blaeja sank from their squawks, but the men that awaited her in the courtyard were a sore sight. A scattering of them still remained from the night before, blood mix into their beards. Some clearly looked ale sick, while others sharped their blades, the ring of the metal put her teeth on edge. Blaeja tried to ignore their many glares and some even tried to follow in behind her guards. Was this to be her work when she was clean? She silently sung to herself, the tune from her childhood mother always sung when she was afraid.

The mud squelched under her fine leather shoes, she noticed Sigyn had a bag of something over her shoulder. The most logical option would be a new dress; her current was ripped and stained beyond use. The steam was a short distance outside the villa; the kitchens were built on top a part of it. Blaeja wondered did any of the staff manage to escape through the well or where they all captured. She had assumed the Ealdorman and his family had become fuel for the fire, those poor babes. _May god have mercy upon them_ , she silently prayed.

Her gaolers stopped in front of the water, Blaeja was thankfully the followers had been scared off. Sigyn didn’t waste much time and started undoing the ties that had knotted in places. Her dress slumped around her, with little movement Blaeja allowed it to pool at her feet. She however would not allow Sigyn to remove her body shift; she didn’t want to lose all of her modesty this day. The water was cold and raised goose bumps along her exposed flesh; she hugged her chest and hid her body from her voyeurs under the cleansing water. The current was a gentle push against her; maybe just maybe it was enough to save her, she wondered as she lifted her feet from the bed. She hoped the river would take her away, to where she did not know but it could not be worse than this. Hopefully she would find a little village and sell her wedding band for a horse, it would take a great few months to arrive in Wessex, but hopefully she would reach them before the Northmen.

Instead she stayed where she was, bobbing up and down like a twig that refused to sink. It seemed that god himself would not take her from this place. Sigyn handed her a small pot of crushed red powder she guessed from the smells, maybe roses. Sigyn pointed to her head and body, she guessed it was some sort of cleanser. She noticed they looked at her intently when she dipped her head into the water, posed to pull her from the water if she stayed down too long. The rose concoction was quite pleasant against her skin and made light work of the cobwebs and dust from the hatch tangled in her dark hair, it even soothed the burn in her chest.

Sigyn held out a towel, signalling her time was up. Alvis was turned away from her as she emerged from the steam, heavy and slick with water. The towel served the dual purpose of a screen as Sigyn stripped her out of the shift and replaced it with a dry one and into an over sized plain and white dress. She was to have no more finery as a thrall, although it was probably her last bath in a long time. Sigyn provided her with stronger leather boots better to withstand the terrain, but within minute she could feel blisters on her dainty feet. Sigyn dried her hair so she wouldn’t get a chill and applied a strong smelling balm to her cheek and to the scars of her back. It was potent and smelled of smoke but Blaeja could smell the Maythen on her cheek, she knew it well the nuns would use it on the wounds of the soldiers brought to them.

The courtyard was more alive when they made their trip back; a small group huddled into a circle as two huge men twisted and slashed at each other. The clank of short swords and banging of shields could just about be heard over the loud guff shouts of the men around them. Some strange prayers to their gods no doubt, Blaeja thought as she mounted the stairs, and her ever silent guards following close behind. The two men below were equally match, both broad of shoulder and tall, incredibly tall.

“They are truly giants.” She said aloud, Sigyn gave a small rude laugh.

“Everyone is quite tall compared to you.” Alvis laughed with his daughter, pulling his captive up the wooden stairs. From the vantage point, Blaeja was able to see the fighters were two of the men from the night before. In the light of the day one looked identical to the man that had held her face-save for his darker braid that swung around with each turn. Every so often that dark hair gave way to bright blue tattoos running in strange patterns down the side of the head and onto his neck, it was something Blaeja had never seen before. The other looked only a little younger than his challenger and much more agile as he easily stepped out of the way of the advances. The elder however to his credit got some close hits on his younger opponent that could have finished him. It was hypnotic to watch, Blaeja had only a few times been allowed to watch the men practicing arms. It was quite a sight to behold; the raw strength of her father’s men was enough to get her flustered. But not today, she wouldn’t let that happen. The fight was over quite quickly with the first show of bright red blood on both sides. _Nothing serious just a gaze on an arm,_ Blaeja thought, _with some Maythen it’ll heal soon. Why am I wishing them well, I would be better serve if their arms rot and fall off._

On the last perch of the stairs, Blaeja noticed the other three overlooking the proceedings; one was only a head barely above the railing, his lazy hands held an axe that looked big for him, _how could he possibly hold such a thing with ease?_ Blaeja asked herself; _with a drop it would do quite a bit of damage to whoever it found underneath_. The leader looked ever bigger than the night before wrapped in his pale furs; his thick hands looked like they could rip chunks from the railing below his fingertips and he had a face that could cause the world to burn with just a look. The younger blonde caught her staring; he was strange, while his long blonde hair and warrior physique clearly marked him out as other, he was not so different he wouldn’t have been too out of place at court. She oddly blushed as she looked away from him, while Alvis pulled her in to the dim room.

He tied her hands to the leg of the table. _Are they scared I would run? Where would I go?_ She said to herself. “Why were they fighting?” For a second thought, she wondered if the army would kill itself before the Saxon army could reach it. A glimmer of hope sparked within her, a combined Saxon army was unheard of, but so had a pagan army. Maybe this was the force to bring the country united under one banner.

“To entertain the men, but also proves their strength, to ensure loyalty among their men. That and Hvitserk likes to show off how good of a warrior he has become.” He stroked his long moustache; his long legs rest under her stool, a little kick would send her to the ground.

“Which one is he?”

“The younger of the two. The elder is Ubbe, both are sons of Ragnar.” They were the sons of that old man, and her father had brought them to their shores when he had defeated the heathen. But now both men were dead, mother too, before long Judith would be dead and god willing her time would come soon. Her only wish was that Ecgberht remained in Frankia.

Sigyn entered with a bowl of steaming oats, the very smell made Blaeja’s mouth water and her stomach lunged. It was so inviting stilling there in front of her, the spoon slowly dipping further into its delicious mass. She tightened her lips, without food death would follow and an escape from this place, she must be strong if she was to join her lady mother. She pushed it away as best as she could with her bound hands, Alvis watched her with a raised eyebrow.

“You will eat child.” He pushed the spoon closer to her.

“I have no craving for it. What is this work I am to do?”

“I am to teach our language, so you may be able to do your master’s bidding.”

“Oh.” That was it, at least for now. The lessons stretched long into the day, the morning meal was cold and had grown a new skin. Blaeja tried hard to distract herself with her lessons, barely getting to grips even the easiest of words in this harsh tongue. Alvis was a surprisingly understanding task master, repeating the words again and again. She could however see the disapproving looks when the snacks and finally the evening meal joined the morning bowl.

“I will not ask of you again, eat.” She made no movement towards even though her stomach hurt from emptiness and her head banged from an ache, but still she must resist. Instead she drunk a tiny bit of milk and sounded out the last word Alvis had spent the last hour teaching her. Alvis and Sigyn shared some words before the latter scurried out quickly. Was she to get more food?

In barely any time, Sigyn returned, the blonde leader in tow, there was no mistaking the anger on his face. He barked at her in his language, she had no idea but it sounded quite terrifying. The snake in his eye bright with anger, maybe it was enough to run her through, she hoped. “Lord Sigurd demands why you will not eat.” Sigyn had told on her.

“I have no desire to eat.” She looked at the shining seax hanging from his hip, maybe it was time to right what she should have done the day before. She waited as Alvis translated, the anger did not wash from his face but nor did her make any movement towards her or the seax.

“Budlungr Sigyn says if you do not eat, you will be force fed and paraded naked around the camp till you willingly comply.” Blaeja grabbed pieces of cold meat, it didn’t taste as good as it should but her belly cried in joy for it.

                                                                                                                      **

Her first month followed in much the same pattern, wake, wash, eat, study, eat and bed. Surprising her captors was quite religious (if the word could apply) when it came to washing and keeping clean. Blaeja found she bathe more now than she had throughout her life. Alvis started to talk to her less and less in her native language forcing her to speak more and more in the harsh foreign tongue Ragnar had spoken his dying words. Sigurd would also sometimes sit in on mealtimes, to ensure she was eating. She could always feel his gaze on her, it made her feel very awkward especially with the added constraints made picking up food a more clumsily affair then it needed to be. A few times she had missed her mouth while eating her daily oats; Sigurd would always be quick to wipe them from her cheek, his anger long gone. Had she missed her chance?

To her relief she spent most time inside her room, away from the men that prowled the courtyard. Brunhild and Freydis stood in their watch outside while Sigyn would prattle well-meaning chit chat to her; she had even picked up a few words in the Saxon language. Sigyn was certainly having easier time learning from her than Blaeja did. She was however able to teach Sigyn to embroider, the older girl would have such a smile on her face when she had mastered those tricky beginning stitches at last, in no time she would have a chest full of clothes. Not that Blaeja had any problems with the girl, but she didn’t want to think of this as her life. She listened patiently, biding her time for the first opportunity to escape.

Thankfully her bounds have been removed and she could roam around the room, although the red marks still decorated her wrists. She took to curling up in her favourite spot on the window seat, when she was alone she cried for all she had lost, she would cry till she feel into an exhausted sleep. From her usual spot she could see that big old tree, Judith had made her climb it one day when she was little, and she was so scared she couldn’t get down again. Ealdorman Leofric had been the one to get her down, she remember, he had been in much better health then. The tree was on the edge of the woods, the trees were so tight in places they would only allow one man at a time through them, maybe that could give her a chance to escape.

Sigyn returned looking quite excited with bundle of cloth. Her father was at a meeting he said and so there was to be no lessons today, in his absence Sigyn took on the mantle of teacher. Alvis did say she was to be born here if the King had not destroyed their village. She knew of the villages, but that was only because the Northmen had cause great harm to their neighbours and after only a few years mounted a rebellion against not only the King of Wessex but also her father. Both Kings had destroyed the source of the rebellion and that had been the end of it. She never gave much though that the people were any more than troublemakers and thieves.

“Sigyn-em, tree…herbs…heal. I show.” She tried to speak; she certainly could understand the language better than speak it. Sigyn brows furrowed but then relaxed as she put the words together. She nodded but insisted to bind one of Blaeja’s wrists to her. She panicked internally, it was happening, what would she to do now? She kept her eyes down in the courtyard, when they reached the tree, Sigyn would be distracted with the herbs, and she could easily find a rock and knock her out and cut herself free, yes that’s what she would do.

But when they arrived the herbs were blocked by Sigurd playing some strange instrument. Her plan was ruined, I will never escaped, and she frowned to herself. He noticed the two of them and step down the wooden shaped instrument.

“Sorry to disturb you’re playing my Budlungr.” Sigyn said. He waved her off as he straighten himself.

“Is she eating?” Blaeja made out, Alvis explained to her the language between his people and the Northern people of her country was similar with few changes. The monks do write that our people came from lands just beyond the Frankish empire; Alvis said they are not too far away from his home. Once she got over the strangeness of the language she could understand some of it, some of it still baffled her.

“Yes, and in good health.” She was able to pick up; they talked like she wasn’t here. If he was to leave then she wouldn’t be for much longer, she could see the darkness of the trees, just beyond the small creek.

“Well done Sigyn, maybe fatten her up more; she will be worth her wait in Silver.” They laughed, was she to be force fed till she needed a cart to move.

“What use to fat, when no King will pay.” It didn’t come out quite as she had wanted, but what was the point in keeping her hostage. Her father was dead; Edmund had abandoned her, what would Ecbert want with a second Northumbrian princess, certainly not one to pay a kingdom ransom for. Was this their plan? To capture her and sell her to the highest bidder. Did they realise no one was left that wanted her?

Sigurd left the two alone; Blaeja was surprised how it was falling into place. Sigyn dropped the ropes as she busied herself with the herbs. Blaeja spied the rocks by the riverside; her heart was beating wildly in her chest. The moment had come, she didn’t believe it would but here it was. She quietly made her way towards the splashing water; Sigyn was quietly humbling not paying attention. She found the one, not too big or sharp but it should knock her out. She hid it in behind her back as she approached Sigyn like an animal cornering its prey. She held the rock aloft, her hand shaking around it, it was now or never. Sigyn feel to the ground hard, bright blood pooling from the wound.

The rock fell from Blaeja’s hand as the realisation hit her. “I’m sorry.” She whispered through blurred vision. There wasn’t much time if Alvis seen they were missing he would come looking, and he mustn’t find her. The water was freezing, and made her cloak heavy in the rushing water. Above her the big black raven squawked, was it following her, hadn’t it had enough of her misery? The end of her rope got caught on the rocks on the river bed, she had forgotten about it in her haste to leave. She pulled at it but it was wedged hard into the bed. Her eyes were frantic as they searched for a sharp stone, every so often she would look to Sigyn’s body, the gleam of her knife mockingly visible on the soft green grass.

She couldn’t go back the rope wouldn’t let her. The raven made a noise like he was laughing; his dark beak peaked at the branch above her. She blew the piece of hair out of her face as she searched the rocks, testing their edge for sharpness. The perfect one cut her finger in a sharp gasp like when one catches their fingers on a paper edge. She quickly began slicing at the rope, finally the braided fibres started to snap. She was free just as she heard noises coming towards her, picking up the remainder of the rope she sprinted for the trees.

The branches were sharp against her face and she could still the noise of the damned raven. Soon in the light was snuffed out, the trees twisted and writhing together it was hard to see where one began and another ended. She continued further in, hoping over long dead trunks now giving over to rot and insects. Further she continued, she needed to get a safe distance, but not far behind her she heard a crunch.


	6. Purgatory

She couldn’t look back; maybe it was just some innocent creature. Her mind was going crazy, what if it was a Barghest that will eat her up in his large bloodied fangs. Her skin felt warm despite the chill and that she would faint at any moment. Her heart was beating wildly against her chest as her brain seemed to scream inside her skull. _Crunch_ , another one and it was closer. _Crunch_ , something was after her. A branch scratched her face, so close to her eye she thought she might lose it. The ties of her cloaked pulled at her neck, cutting off her air. She ripped at the ties leaving it behind; she was far too warm for it.

She tripped over a fallen trunk, she meet the hard ground with a thud. She crawled behind the fallen tree, its bark wet and soft. _Crunch_ , there it was again. It’s just leaves and branches nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, But what’s making them crunch? She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to give her position away. She pulled her legs in to lie flat against the underside of the tree, hoping it’d be harder to be seen. She didn’t know what was worse, some creature in the forest or the Northmen on the chase for their prize. Her lungs burned against her ribs from her run, and her legs wanted to rest. How far was it to the nearest town? Was there a nearby town, did this forest continue to the end of the kingdom? It occurred to Blaeja that she didn’t know very much of her kingdom.

 _Squawk_ , there it was, that bloody bird. It was following her, she knew she sounded mad. She didn’t care she pushed herself off and ran, she didn’t know what direction she was going in but she needed to get as far away from it as possible. She couldn’t place but that bird had something strange about it, it brought death with it, was it her death she brought. Death or escape they were the only two options. She felt it peck at her head, the sharp beak nipped at her scalp. She dived towards the lowing hanging branches, hoping it wouldn’t follow her. It didn’t, for good reason; the dead trees give way to a large mound. She looked up and down, could she climb it? She tried to grab onto the root, but they came away in her hands. The trees had her trapped either side, she could only go back. But back was where that crazed bird was, where that creature waited to devour her and beyond that hundreds of Northmen who would rip her to shreds. Not least Sigyn could easily make a potion to kill her slowly.

She tried again to make some holes, but the soil was too soft to hold her foot, every time she tried it slipped out just as she put it in. Maybe she should have followed the river, but she couldn’t go back, nor could she go forwards. It was like the trees themselves were twisting and tightening over her head. _What do I do?_ She asked herself, blood and sweat running down her neck. The mound in front of her lit with a small orange light getting bigger and she could see her shadow against it. She didn’t turn around but could hear the rustle of the leaves being kicked out the way, apart from the beating of her heart everything else was silence. A hand grabbed her shoulder, not a Barghest then. She tried to push against them but they were able to pull her around, it was Sigurd under that orange light. Had he followed her into the forest? Maybe it was a Burghest after all, only Sigurd’s was the raven that never leaves her be. The soil was loose under her fingers as she search for something to use, maybe a root, even just a loose stone straight into that snaked eye would give her time. What if there were others following? She tried to look but the flames were too bright it made spots appear in her eyes.

“It just me.” He spoke, in Saxon. Blaeja mouth fell up, the confused etched onto her face. “Alvis.” As if to answer her unspoken question. She wasn’t sure if she believed him, a group could be waiting to do worse things to her just beyond the trees, would it be time to burn her alive to their gods? She found it, the rock felt sharp against her hand, it would do damage. She tried to put as much strength as she could into her swing, but Sigurd was able to catch her wrist in time. He didn’t hurt her, but he wouldn’t let her go, if it caused him any strain he didn’t show it. The rock fell to the ground between them; he just looked at her waiting for to make a move. He knew, she guessed, early he knew what she would do. It would explain how he got here that quickly.

“Come.” He let go of her but she didn’t move, it was death or escape and latter hadn’t worked. He looked at her confused; Blaeja wrapped her arms around herself, starting to feel the cold. “Come now,” He starting in Saxon. “No harm will come to you.” He finished in his native language. What did that even mean? How could she trust him? She looked back to the mould.

“I don’t have a choice.” She spoke to herself in Saxon just to spite him; she tried to make herself as unreadable as possible. She remembered something: “I parade.” She stopped she didn’t know the word for naked, not that she wanted to know, She gestured towards herself.

“Maybe.” She shuddered, from the chill or the thought, maybe both. Sigurd produced a second cloak, similar to the one he gave her that first night. It smelled of the forest and was covered in leaves, _I lead him right to me_ , she though as she pulled it tighter around her small body. He made sure she went first, heading back to her doom. “Aelle’s daughter…name?”

“Blaeja.” The rest of the wall was in silence, what meet her on the other side she would fine way out, somehow. The bird circled above her like it sensed its feast, so Sigurd was no shift-shaper after all. The darkness soon gave light to the ending day, there they were Alvis stood now cold with men she didn’t recognize, axes at the ready like she would really do these men any damage. Sigyn wasn’t among them; hopefully she hadn’t hurt her so seriously. Two of the men roughly grabbed her arms, it reminded her of the way her father would sometimes squeeze her. They half carried her over the water and half carried her into camp. The men and women jeered and crowded around her, up above in their usual places the leaders looked down on her with stone faces.

She was rather surprised to find she had been locked in the dark stables. Once again she was tired to the pole, the rough ropes rubbed at her wrists. The smell of the horses was overwhelming, and one not far from her kicked violently at his stall. The door shock hard on the hinges, with a swift kick it could hit her. The familiar tightening knot formed in her chest, she wanted so much to rub it loose, for some release,-any release from its grip. The panic that accompanied it crept up her spine indistinguishable from the cold air that bit at her bones.

She pulled at her ropes this way and another, trying hard with the little movement they offered. She exhaled and let her head drop against the pole, it was no use, and whatever she did just tightened them more. Her eyes filled with hot tears of frustration, she could imagine the army gleefully building her pyre. Not only would she suffer in death but she would be denied a Christian burial; an eternity of darkness awaited her, an eternal with no one to pray for her soul locked in purgatory. Mother lived by the idea that God never dealt us things we weren’t strong enough to handle. She had always tried to live the same, although she had not faced many trails in her life from behind the protective walls of the nunnery.

Maybe if she hadn’t of left. She knew nunneries were not safe from the pagan’s wave, but maybe the leader would have spilt her in two with his great axe. Dressed in a nun’s habit she was of no value, and surely they did not take all women to bed before they killed them. Instead Father had commanded her back not a year past according to his will and God’s. Scathing and whimpering from further down caught her attention; it certainly wasn’t a horse but did not sound human either. It was only then she realised that it had started raining, the patter of the winter rain hummed like a lullaby off those old boards above her. Legends told that Eofiric was built by the Romans to protect against the native Britons, sanctified by God for the Emperors of the empire. The old serving women with them in the nunnery use to tell her of the Roman Lord of Eofiric, who fell in love with a Briton women. He loved her so much he turned away from god and started to worship the pagan gods of her tribe. In his villa he built a temple to those gods and scarified his prized bulls to them, even people when the moon was at its highest. In the old woman’s story was correct, she was tied up within that old temple like all those that had come before her. God was angered and sent an invading force to purify the land of the evil Roman Lord. Had God been as anger with Ragnar’s death as the Northmen?

A drop of water fell through the cracks in the roof to land of her head, above her see could see the black scorch marks from where the wicked lord had burned his victims. It was enough to chill her more deep than any wind, that was a fate that awaited her just beyond those ancient doors. The horse to her slammed at his stall door again, wanting freedom. It made her jump and tried to move from its desperate wails, Blaeja wished she could help it, but she was of no use tied the way she was. She settled on the wedding band on her finger, it was cold against her fingers. The token of his betrayal and the destruction of her people, her family that father paid for willingly. It weighed heavily in that circle of metal. Now that escape was no longer an option, it served no purpose; she twisted and fiddled until she was free from it. She threw it as far as her bound hands would allow, she heard no satisfying landing noise, and it was lost somewhere in the straw no doubt. Maybe so pagan could find that engraved piece of gold and be cursed with the misfortune it had brought her. _Had he took his whore to wife?_ Blaeja thought bitterly. _He could tell the world I’m dead, it would free him from his alliance and from making others against his pagan friends._

Those old rickety doors opened with a cracking noise, the horses around her roused, their ears picking up. She squinted at the bright touch light that invaded the darkness, they were silent as she reached her. She didn’t want to look at them, she wanted to trick herself for just a few moments that death had not come for her. Much like everything in her life, Blaeja wasn’t even allowed her fantasies. One of them grabbed her face, not as gently as the Leader had done the night her world came apart. Unlike the pagan she had expected, the man had no beard to speak of. His white hair was cut in the Saxon style and stuck to his wrinkled face. Osberht, she remembered. Was he to be her saviour in this time, when not too long ago he was her would be executioner.

The elder man turned her face other and other in his hand, not meeting her eyes, his own was watery and sad. He lightly pushed down her sleeve, clearly bashful at the whole experience to expose the large birthmark on her shoulder. He replaced the fabric and walked away from her, Blaeja canned herself as forward as she could away from the pole. It was only then she noticed Sigurd and Alvis.

“This women is not who you say she is.” The old man told Sigurd, his face didn’t change even after Alvis’ translation. Instead his hand reached for his Seax, Blaeja could see the panic on the Saxon’s face. “May perhaps I could have something as a token to show my master.” Blaeja’s eyes followed Sigurd as he approached her, eyes alight in the limited light. He bend down behind her and took her hands into his, they were rough from years of working with weapons. He brushed over her fingers, clearly looking for something.

“Where?” He whispered in his broken Saxon. Blaeja wanted to slap herself, the ring she hoped would buy her freedom was now the key she needed. She shook her head, Sigurd wasn’t angry; instead he crewed on his lip in thought.

“Please Lord, it is me. I swear of the blood of our holy Lord Jesus Christ I am who I say I am. I beg of you, tell my uncle. The King.” The man only looked at her with the same pained expression as before.

“You are very convincing lady.” He made to leave but Alvis stopped him.

“You will give your terms to your master or we will send him your head.” Sigurd spoke above her. He certainly wasn’t as tall or broad as his brothers, but looking at him now she found him intimating. The Saxon nodded upon hearing Alvis’ translation and scurried back into the rain. Would he return for me? Blaeja wondered as she watched him leave. Sigurd bent back down to her level, he softly moved a piece of hair from her face, it had long since out of the braid Sigyn had done this morning. “Erfidr.” He smiled at her but she could only look at him in confusion.

“Troublesome.” Alvis told her.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She was not sure why she was apologizing, she guessed years of habit. “My uncle will not pay for me.”

“If he does or no we will still defeat him.” He stated with a shrug. It would be true, how many men were left from her father’s defeat? How many Ealdormen remained in charge of their shires? Did any of the Witan survive to proclaim him King upon her father’s death? Did any escape to Ecgberht in Frankia?

“If you will fight him, what need of a ransom?” She waited while Alvis translated, she was now able to understand his translation, but his accent was so thick words sounded like noises.

“Winter isn’t far from us and the ransom will pay for food for the men.” Sigurd untried her from the post, and helped her to her feet. Her legs were sore and stiff and her stomach was empty.

“Am I to die?” She tied to stand firm, but it only served to lead her tried body against him.

“One day, but not today?”

The night was dark as he led her out; they kept to the shadows clearly not wanting to be seen. She was huddled close in between the two men as they shuffled up the wooden stairs to return to the room she once occupied again. The warmth of the brazier spread over her upon her entrance and made her sleepily. She practically inhaled the food placed in front of her, not paying any head to the men watching her. Sigurd told her she would be returning to her lessons comes the morning before bidding her night. She was so tired when she was allowed to go to bed, quickly and thankfully sleep came to her. She found herself lost in dreams and then she was on a battlefield, the ground stained with blood, warm and bright. She floated along, her feet never touching the bodies with faces she did not recognise. There on the plain in front of her was a sword plunge in the ground, the familiar raven perched on the pummel its black beak stained with blood. Beneath his talents was a strange necklace, it looked like a tiny hammer hung from it, clear from the river of blood that surrounded it.


	7. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, its been so long!

For once her dream had gave her some resembles of hope when she awoke. Those tiny hammer looking pendants glistered in her mind as she sat at the small desk in her room. She had only ever seen them around the necks of the pagans, the tiny bits of silver that looked like perversion of the holy crucifix, Blaeja reached for her own absentmindedly; forgetting it was stolen from her. Outside her female guards sharpened their weapons almost at the same time daily, was it ritual or habit? Blaeja didn’t have the courage to ask. The men in the courtyard prepared for the incoming winter, the sky above was white as milk, sure sign of snow on the way.

  She thought back to her dream, every time new details emerged. The orange of the sky, the gleam of the hammer, their strange silver carvings so tiny but spoke in their own alien language. Her old nurse had once said dreams were our ancestors talking to us. She recoiled at the thought. It was heresy to think such things, to think anyone had such power than the Lord. Blaeja wondered about the people of the city, had they fled upon the attacker’s arrival or had they been thrown to the flames. Had Edmund giving them any thought when he invited the pagans to their doors? Blaeja wondered if he had even hidden his new friends in the city ready for the attack. She didn’t want to think of him anymore, it was of no use to think about him, he had forfeited any right to her and she must do the same. She told herself it over and over, but the anger tore into her heart, in her darkest moments she wished he would know betrayal as sharp as her own.

  But Blaeja was ever prone to let her mind wonder, surely her uncle would be God’s chosen King to protect his good faith. He would-must rescue her from this place, in the stories the princess was always saved from her tower. Maybe she could convince her uncle to let her return to the safety of the nunnery, tucked away from the trials and temptations of this life. By god may Ecgberht would rule after Osberht. She was not made to be a Queen that was always Judith’s role. But she was not a Queen, not anymore, but what was she? She didn’t want to admit it but she had been treated much nicer than a common slave. Slaves usually didn’t sleep in such grand beds with guards posted to their door. Would they protect her when the men grew tired of waiting? Sigurd had said he wanted to use her ransom, a pawn to destroy her country. He had not said those words, he didn’t need to. Ancient Kings of her own country had used the same tactic to devastating results; she knew it was selfish of her to wish for her own safety when the outcome would leave her with no home to return to.

  In her musings, her quill slipped and spilled the thick black ink over the parchment. In the past it would have earned an unforgiving rod to the knuckles. She bit down on her tongue to stop any exclaim; her hands were slick with the ink as she tried to push the substance back into the jar. She couldn’t hope for anymore, by a stroke of luck she had found this one jar and a bundle of pages spared from the carnage of the sack, tucked away safety beneath the low bed. She had found a new joy in this writing, the nuns had taught her the Holy Roman Latin script and she could read a little of it too. She practiced over and over again, writing to Judith and Ecgberht, even if she had no way to send them; but still it gave her peace to empty the thoughts that swam in her head.

  The rest of the pages were stacked in a neat pile tied with one of her hair ribbons protected from the spillage. Without warning, her door opened and Sigurd strolled in, Blaeja quickly hid her hands behind her back careful not to stain the fabric of her dress. Sigurd closed the difference between them, he was never one to leave much space, Blaeja had noted. No man would ever think to get this close to her in her father’s court. She tried to move back a step but was greeted by her stool, Sigurd didn’t follow her step. She looked away from his strange eyes, as much as they fascinated her she didn’t want to be caught staring at them.

 “Are you afraid of me?” He asked.

 “Should I be?” She still didn’t lift her eyes.

 “No, I hope I don’t scare you?”

 “It’s not you I’m afraid of.”

 “No one will harm you while your under my protection,” she finally allowed himself to look at him; the corners of his mouth were curled in an easy grin she had seen many times before. She smiled trying to be reassuring, then she saw it dangling from his neck, that tiny little hammer, so similar and yet so different from her crucifix.

 “Why do you wear that?”

 “For protection-what is that?” He strolled to her small alter, without access to wood and blades, she embroidered a crucifix onto some cloth and lit by one solitary candle. Her brain went blank as she tried to search for the answer she needed, but had none. Who he be angry and destroy it? “You shouldn’t mention this to anyone.”

 “You’re not angry?” She was taken aback, this strange pagan never seemed to act the way she expected of him.

 “No, you god holds no power,” he shrugged.

“And yours does?”

 “Yes, I’ve seen my gods.”

 “No one can look upon the face of god and live,” She went to cross her arms, but remembered the ink on her hands and kept them firm behind her.

 “Some do, the Allfather came to me when my father was slain,” an awkwardness feel between them, Blaeja’s stomach twisted like the snakes had twisted over Ragnar’s body in the pit. He was still staring at her little alter, his fingers hovered over the flame just to see if it would burn him. “Do you ever grow tired of being so Christian?”

 It was a strange question, Blaeja thought and she could see the anger in his shoulders, at last he finally turned away from the alter. “No,” she answered, “I was almost about to take my vows as a nun.”

 “That would have been a shame,” he ran his eyes over her body, that damned crooked smile on his face. Blaeja could feel the heat rush to her face, never had a man been so brazen in front of her.

“Did you come here for a reason?” She spat. He moved closer to her, ignoring her discomfort.

 “I came to make sure you were okay after yesterday.”

 “I’m well thank you. How is Sigyn?”

 “She’s well, you gave her quite the knock but she’ll recover.”

 “I’m sorry.” “Best saying that to her,” He laughed “you can see her in a few days.” His eyes turned to mess of ink and parchment littering the table. “What have you been up to Erfidr?”

“Nothing!” She tied to take the page from his hand but he held high above her reach. “So you can write,” he raised one questioning eyebrow.

“Only a little,” she tried her best to gather up the scraps together and tightened the lid of the ink.

“Maybe you could teach me?” He handed her parchment that she was carefully not to stain any further.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Is a pagan unworthy of learning how to write?” He leaned his elbow against the table.

 “That’s not what i meant, who would you write to?”

 “Who are you writing to?”

 “No one.” “Maybe I could write to ‘no one’ too,” He reached to grab her hand, his face scrunched a little when he felt the thick black liquid covering her little hands. He chuckled and led her to the basin filled with water, the clear liquid soon turned to black when he plunged their hands into the cold water.

 “I can do this myself,” She protested as he ran his rough ones over hers.

 “To be sure you could, but you haven’t had the best experience with water thus far.” Blaeja chewed on her lip trying to laugh and a bit annoyed with herself that she didn’t mind the touch of this heathen. She felt something strange as his palm slide against hers, she pulled his hand from the warm, glistening through the water was a long still pink scar ripped through his palm.

 "How'd you do this?"

"I was holding a blade when Odin told me my father had died, I sliced my hand to the bone." 

"You didn't, you couldn't move you fingers if you hit bone."

He looked at her for a moment in silence, "I like that version. Writing isn't you're only talent I see."    


	8. Blood and Water

Sigyn Alvisdotter was awake when Blaeja arriaved, with a small red gash to decorate her plain face. Blaeja wanted to flinch at Sigyn’s narrowed eyes as she slipped into the room that smelled like burning camomile. “You came back, princess,” Sigyn croaked before clearing her throat.

 “Sigyn, I’m sorry, I just-”

 “I was just in the way,” Blaeja bite hard into her bottom lip.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You mentioned you know somewhat of herbs, you can collect the ones I need and prepare them. When I am well you will be my apprentice, winter makes the men restless.”

“Of course, Sigyn thank you.” She followed Sigyn’s pointed finger to the list scribed with crude drawings of the plants, she could just about make out them out. Some she had never seen before, she looked from the page to the girl in the bed but her voice caught in her throat. Maybe she could figure it out when she was in the fields. Thora agreed to her request, over time Blaeja had came to prefer Thora to the other guard at her door. In truth Astrid’s silence still scared Blaeja as she focused on nothing but sharpening that long blade of hers. Blaeja was much happier to have just Thora with her, to Blaeja’s surprise her stony guard could make out some of the herbs on the list.

Winter birds flew low against the winter sun as Blaeja’s dress danced on the the crisp grass. She had to admit the Northmen’s choice of dress was much practical than her old dresses, she thought as she shoved her cold hands in the apron’s pocket. It reminded her of the apron’s she wore in the nunnery, the little roughspun outer robe she would hide any treats she could get her hands on, until one of the novices tattled on her and Mother Superior had shown her the blunt end of her birch stick. Now she filled her pockets with roots and flowers for Sigyn, using Thora’s seax to cut the most stubborn of roots. She occasionally pushed strands of hair from her face and tried to ignore the sweat rolling down her back. She tried to ignore the noises of the men that started at first in the woods but coming closer. Ivar was propped on his shield carried by a few of his men beneath him a tall man with black markings around his eyes bared his teeth as they passed.

Luckily for Blaeja, Sigyn was on her feet within a few days and put the princess straight to work, crushing the herbs and preparing potions for young and old. Blaeja hadn’t realised how many wives had joined their husbands on their raid. Elderly Gunnhild was her favourite, she didn’t act how Blaeja had been taught to think ‘the unnatural women of the North’ acted. Gunnhild instead seemed delighted someone was happy to listen to her stories, and Blaeja in turn happy to hear of the kind farmers. They had left their grown children in charge of their farm and Gunnhild had followed the elderly Erik, they had lived together so they would die together.

Sigyn gave her no time to rest or reflect on sweet words, not when there was much to be done. “Do you replenish the stores?”

“Aye”

“Good, talk of another fight between the brothers is lighting the camp like wildfire.”

“Which ones?”

“Hvitserk and Sigurd, let's hope they knock some sense into one another.” Sigyn huffed as she gathered the last of her items. Blaeja followed the older girl to the high ledge upon which stood the Sons of Ragnar, It was strange that all those months ago these men were just hollow threats from a dying man. The man with the black ringed eyes bared his teeth to her again as she passed.

“Ah Princess!” Ivar gleamed and did a mock bow from his stool his twisted legs lay limpless beneath him. “Which one of my brothers will you place you money on?” She awkwardly shifted her weight from one foot to another, the hands growing sweaty under his eyes.

“She has no money to bet with Ivar,” Bjorn grumbled, she wasn’t sure if he meant to silence Ivar or remind her of what she lost. It was silent between them until the fighter took their place on the packed earth below circled by a wall of men. Blaeja watched their play fight look so real as seax, axe and shield engaged in the ring of steel. Between them their skill was well matched, she could only tell Sigurd by his blonde hair that poked out of his helmet and the axe he whirled above his head, meeting everyone of his wild brother blows. Hvitserk jumped out of the way of his brother’s attack though he was the small build of his family he had no trouble matching his brothers in combat.

With a smack from his younger brother’s shield Hvitserk’s helmet fell to the ground, although he seemed to pay no attention to the blood that trickled down his face from a gash on his forehead. He seemed to come alive with the taste of his own blood and slashed Sigurd across the arm. Blaeja felt a chill run through her, if that was what Hvitserk would do to a friend how terrifying could he be to foe. As quick as it had started the fight came to an end in a roar from the circling men and goods looked to be changing hands as Blaeja followed to their workshop, taking turns to mush the herbs and leaves together until finally the celebrated brothers entered laughing in victory.

“Where would my lady have me?” Hvitserk boomed still undeterred by the blood on his face and the same splinters of wood that seemed to stick from it. Sigyn took him into the back room, mumbling under her breathe as she passed.

“I guess I am your patient,” Sigurd shrugged and pulled his dirt and blood stained from him. Blaeja averted her eyes at his brassness, she had seen the bare chest of men before but none that stirred such feeling inside her. She focused her attention on her wet cloth and the long thin red line and tried to stop her eyes from following the lines of the blue markings that covered his upper arm.

“I need to stitch your wound, it will hurt,” she steadied her hand and pieced the needle through the wound as if it were a piece of cloth.

“Where did you learn to do this?”

“The nuns would take in soldiers during the war. Mother Abbess had a vision from God that we should. Mother never approved of it for us but Mother Abbess would push us until we were use to the blood- sorry I’m. You don’t want to hear me babble on.”

“Happily you can ‘babble’ I would rather listen to you to distract me. What was this war you speak of?”

“For most of my life my uncle has fought my father for the throne. We knew very little peace over the years and now you you are here,” she tighten the final bandages around his arm, he closed his hand around hers causing her to meet his gaze. Blaeja felt the heat of his skin and a strange tension bubbled between them, she wasn’t sure if he had moved closer or she did but the space seemed to close between them. Noise and movement drew their attention as a bandaged Hvisterk strolled past.

“Don’t let me interrupt.” Blaeja’s face glowed a hot shade of red.

                                                                                                                                   ****

The thralls helped her from the cool stream, wrapping her tight against the chill air that raised goose pimples on her skin. Blaeja hugged her arms around her body, afaid the towel would fall, although she was well hidden behind the screen of towels and far from the camp, she still felt exposed this far outside. The older thrall pushed the shift over her head, forcing Blaeja to drop the towel, while another covered her chilled arms with a warmer cloak, this had become her usual routine but tonight it was more than a simple wash. Once back to her rooms, the women around her scented her neck with perfume and ran oils down her hair till it shrone in the torch light. She felt uncomfortable in the expensive dress the maids had brought, it was cut in an old fashion, but Northumbrian all the same one of the few things to survive the destruction. It hung tight against her body, the shelves were too short for her while she had to be mindful of her step that she didn’t trip on the fabric that pooled around her feet.

Her thralls walked her to the entrance of the Great Hall, her face felt strange buried under the cheek and lip stain, the feeling of her own circlet was strange against her own head. She walked through the hall trying to not make eye contact with anyone present, instead she focused her eyes above the high table where the carved crucifix use to mount the wall. She tried to steady her hands against the head flanket of wine in her hands, until she joined the other lesser dressed thralls at the high table. She felt stupid beside them in her finery, she hadn’t even wore the likes of this at her wedding to Edmund. She felt like all eyes were on her, but when she looked the men were too busy with their food and drink to give her any notice, even the leaders at the high table seemed to ignore her.

“A toast to Odin! The Allfather who gave us victory! And now we feast in his honour for Yule! skol!” Bjorn shouted to a warm welcome in the hall. Yule, she thought, her mind working over the dates in her mind, Christmastide, had she been here this long? The new year had come and gone without her notice. Last Christmastide she had dined her small feast with the nuns in celebration to god for a year of peace from the long civil war that gripped the kingdom. A goblet fell from the table beside Sigurd, with the other thralls serving the other tables, Blaeja realised it was for her to pick it up, she awkwardly bend to pick it up, the rich material of the dress getting in the way. She could feel his strange eyes on her, but didn’t look at him, she didn’t want to see that smile that sat so easily on his face.

The youngest brother barked at her for more wine, trying to be gracefully she poured the heavy liquid into his cup, a hand pinched at her bottom but she kept her face blank, _it’ll be over soon_ , she whispered to herself.

“Did your husband please you well?” She felt her face grow hot at his words. She was shocked to silence under her pinched her again, harder.

“We did not lie together, Lord,” His devilish smile became wider.

“Why? Did you repulse him so?”

“My father forbid it.”

“What a shame,” his hand moved upwards towards her breast.

“Stop this folly brother, you can not please a women,” The blonde brother sneered with a hard set to his jaw.

“I heard in Christian marriage, pleasure isn’t always the desired outcome,” the heat didn’t leave her face. She wanted to say that his words were strictly true, but she found no words came to her dry mouth. However she noticed Ivar was too please with himself too, laughing with his middle brother and far too happy to bask in the laughter of his men to pay her any real attention.

“Such a shame for one so pretty, I think you deserve a good pounding from all here!” he shouted to much drunken reavely, Blaeja seen the small knife so close to the edge of the table, she gently and slowly hid it in her sleeve.

“No,” Siguard now stood, one hand on his small axe at his waist. Ivar’s hands tightened on her body, she reached for her missing crucifix.

“Don’t worry brother, we’ll warm her up for you.” Ivar downed his wine in one gulp.

“Leave her out of your games Ivar, she is my...thrall.” She gulped hard, that was all he seen her as.

“That was not our agreement, she is all of ours.”

“When did you claim her for yourself Sigurd? Ivar is right, she belongs to all of us.” Hvitserk said, slouched back in his chair.

“It was my idea to make the alliance with the east Anglian King-”

“And he promised us her for _our_ revenge.” Ivar waved the empty goblet to make his point, his fingers finally left his body, more interested in his brother.

“Her dead body,”

“I’ll take her dead or alive no matter. But now that she’s alive you think you have a claim to her.”

“Enough, both of you. Alvis bring the princess back to her room.” Bjorn shouted, rubbing circles into his temple.

She was left alone in her room thankfully. But for how long, the little blade was heavy against her wrist. If Ivar wanted to send his men to her, she would end it before they had a chance to touch her. As if on cue the door started to rattle. She held the small blade to her throat, it was not as powerful as a seax but it woud have to do,Sigurd as usual was revealed when the door opened. “You are doing it wrong,” He simply said.

“What?” She watched him as he moved in behind her, her breathing increased the closer he came. She could feel his body at her back, his breathe on her neck as his hand closed around hers with the blade still inside.

“You’re holding it too low, if you wanted to get it right you have to raise it higher. If you want to use a weapon you had best now how to use it.” The feeling of cool steel made her delicate skin tingle and she was very aware of how close Sigurd was, closer than he had ever been before. Would he do it? She thought as she gulped loudy, after all he wanted her dead body to show off their alliance. Aelle’s own flesh and bone to leave rotting against the battlements. He removed the blade and took an awkward step back, Blaeja instinctly held her throat. “I brought you something.” He was so quiet his voice could of got lost in the wind.

It glowed in the fire light an orangey colour and the bottom had a piece missing but it was here; her crucifix. She felt tears pick her eyes at the tiny bit of kindness. “My thanks,” she whispered she had missed it presence around her neck, the familiar weight it provided.

“Keep it hidden.” The look he gave her was strange, content and curious. “Why?” He asked her.

“Why?”

“Why do you still want death, I had hoped that had passed?”

“Right now because I didn’t want to be passed from man to man like a rag. But sometimes I feel I failed my mother.”

“She brought you hear to live, did she not?” She looked to the crucifix safely store in her hand. Sigurd gently took from her, with the other hand he moved her long hair out of the way and tied the cord around her neck. She was filled with a warmth that lit inside her stomach.

“Yes, she thought it was safe here.”

“You’re safe here, you need not fear Ivar or his threats.” He pulled her softly to the stool.

“Because I’m your thrall.” She spat.

“I free you.”

“Can you do that? I thought I belonged to all of you.”

“You no longer do, you are a free women. Free women do need to kill themselves.”

“Do your kind not carve death and val-em?”

“Valhalla.” he laughed “Yes, but we want to live first. We have to come into the halls with stories to tell, or it would be quite dull.”

“What do you do there?” She shouldn’t have asked that question, but she was curious of the palace they always talked about.

“When a warrior dies against a foe and if Odin chosen him for his hall, he is gifted never ending mend and with the other warriors, they feast and fight until Ragnarok.”

“What is that?”

“The end of this world and the dawn of a new. We who dine with Odin will ride with the gods to fight to the end.”

“And do you win?”

“No, for the new world to be born, the old must die including the gods.”

She laughed a nervous laugh “You spend your life fighting to spread eternity fighting to die again.”

“Oh and your god is much better?”

“When you die-if you’ve lived your life in a pious way, you go to heaven and be happy for eternity.”

“That’s it? To be ‘happy’ forever, a bit dull.”

“It’s to reward a life of struggle,”

“Maybe I could convince you differently one day,” their fingers touched and slide over each other, she could feel herself move closer, she should be scared but she wasn’t.

“Or maybe you’ll decide to save your soul.”

“Perhaps, but for now I would like to kiss you?” She nodded and their their lips met in a small brush.


End file.
